The Phantom's Daughter
by LovetheScottishAngel
Summary: If you want to read this story and its sequel, that's all right. Just know that an improved incarnation can be found in my new story 'In Blood.'
1. Prologue

_This story begins in the year 1909, 39 years after the Opera Populaire tragedy. Raoul and Christine are married with children and still live in Paris. Erik's whereabouts are unknown, nor does anyone know if he still lives._

_Three months before our story begins, Christine, now too old to have children, gives birth to a child, a girl. It is deformed, and Christine knows that in some strange way, for she and Erik never had such physical contact, she has conceived and given birth to Erik's daughter. She decides she does not want the child, as it is a constant reminder of Erik due to its deformity, and decides to revisit the Opera Populaire one last time to give Erik their daughter. And so our story begins..._


	2. Chapter 1: Down Once More

"I'm going," Christine deChagny announced promptly.

Her husband, the Vicomte Raoul deChagny, looked up from the book he was reading and raised his eyebrows.

"Where?" he inquired.

"The Opera Populaire."

Raoul stood up abruptly, walked over to her, and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Christine," he said sternly, "you must never go back there. Ever. Do you remember what happened last time we were there?"

"Of course I remember," she snapped, her eyes narrowing in wonder as to how he could ask that question, "but I have to see Erik."

"Why on earth would you want to see him? You don't even know if he's alive."

"Yes, he is. He's back at the Opera."

"How do you know?"

"I just know it. I knew he'd come back eventually, and it's been 39 years now. He's probably been back for quite some time."

He sighed and shook his head. "Why would go you want to go back there, though, especially after all we went through the last time we were there?"

"To see Erik."

"No, Christine," he said rather crossly. "You are not allowed to see that horrid man ever again. Am I understood?"

"Raoul, do you want a constant reminder of _that horrid man_ living in your house?"

Raoul tenderly touched his hands to his neck, remembering how Erik had nearly killed him all those years ago with his infamous Punjab lasso. He didn't want this child to do that to him.

"No," he said softly, looking at his wife. "No, I don't want that... of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Then I have to go back and give her to him. I'm sure he's quite lonely. He might be rather glad to have her."

He considered for a moment before sighing resignedly. "Very well. When do you leave?"

"Right after supper, if you don't have any objections to that."

"That will be fine, I suppose. And you won't stay there long, will you... you'll just give him the child and come straight back?" He placed a hand on his wife's arm. "I don't trust him alone with you. Say you'll come back right after."

"Of course, dear."

"Very good. I'll have the carriage ready for you."

"Thank you," she said, then leaning forward slightly and kissing his cheek.

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After supper, Christine wrapped her young child in a blanket, gathered a few items she'd had to entertain her, and then climbed into the carriage that was headed to the Opera Populaire, the baby in her arms.

When she entered the old opera house, child in her arms, she gazed around with wonder, amazed that it had been untouched for all this time. It was covered with ashes due to the fire that had occurred that fateful night, and there, lying in pieces on the seats, was the shattered chandelier, which had once been so beautiful, looking the same as it had the night that it had crashed to the floor.

When she reached the catacombs below, she remembered the last time she'd been down here with Erik, along with Erik's beautiful voice singing angry words. The words echoed in her head now.

_Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair!_

_Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!_

_Down that path into darkness deep as hell!_

She continued walking, reminiscing about that night so many years ago, until she reached the lake. There, just as she'd hoped, she found the gondola that Erik had carried her in so long ago, floating on the lake. It was almost as if it was waiting for her.

She couldn't help but smile gratefully as she stepped onto the gondola, picking up the paddle and beginning to row with one arm, her other arm holding onto Erik's sleeping child.

After a few minutes in which she rowed the gondola silently, the gate that hid Erik's home from everyone who ever came on the lake came in view. As she'd expected, it was closed.

_Oh, please just let it open_, she thought to herself. She didn't wish to sing those high notes that had caused the gate to open the first night she'd met Erik. Her voice wasn't as good as it had once been.

Fortunately, the gate opened and the curtain was drawn back when she got closer. Just as it had been when she'd seen the gondola on the shore of the lake, it was as if some strange spirit in the Opera had known that she would be arriving.

As she then rowed the gondola into Erik's home, heading toward the shore, she caught sight of Erik for the first time in 39 years.

There he was, his back turned to her, hunched over at his organ with his pen in his hand, apparently working on some piece of music.

When he heard the gate close, he turned around, and she saw that he hadn't aged a bit. His face was exactly as she remembered it, with his beautiful grey-green eyes, his same black hair slicked back, and, most notable of all, his white half-mask covering the right half of his face. Christine wondered if he'd even gotten older; perhaps he had really been a ghost for all of those years.

When Erik had turned around, he saw her, a woman he thought he'd never see again, stepping off of his gondola and onto the shore of the lake, a bundle in her arms.

"Christine!" he exclaimed, obviously surprised by this sudden appearance, and she noted that, like everything else about him that she could see, his voice hadn't changed, either.

He walked towards her, as graceful and quick as ever, until he faced her, stunned by how unchanged she was in appearance. The only thing different about her was her hair color. The brown curls were gray now, but they were still just as long and curly as he remembered, and her face was still heartrendingly lovely - the same face that he'd fallen in love with.

He was so completely surprised to see her, period, and she so completely surprised to see him so unchanged, that they stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, completely at a loss as to how to start a conversation.

"Hello, Erik," she finally said, her brown eyes fixed fearfully on the mask that hid his deformity. "You haven't aged a bit... you're just as I remember you."

He wasn't quite sure as to what to say to that, so he simply nodded silently, still too surprised and confused to say anything to her.

Why was she here, and why now, after 39 years? What was it, exactly, that she had come to him for? Surely she didn't want anything to do with him, especially after he had nearly killed a man that was now most assuredly her husband.

"Christine," he said slowly, going about this as carefully as possible, "what are you here for? You and I haven't seen each other in nearly 40 years. Surely you have better things to do than associate with me any longer?"

After another moment in which she continued to look at his face, she glanced into his eyes before looking down at her sleeping daughter - that daughter that was hers and also Erik's.

"This is your daughter," she explained, holding out the bundle while she wondered how he would react to something like this. "I... I don't want her, so I thought that you might like to have her. She's yours to care for, if you wish."

He looked down at what was being held towards him and saw it amongst the blankets - the face of a sleeping baby, and on its right side, a deformity exactly like his. Upon seeing that, he instantly knew this was, indeed, his daughter, and Christine was the mother. How or why the baby had been conceived or born was utterly beyond him, but he knew for a fact that he didn't care. This was his daughter, which was all he needed to know.

As he grasped all of this, a wave of compassion swept over him, and he took the bundle that was his daughter into his arms, looking down at her in wonder.

"Yes. Yes, of course," he said softly, looking back up from his daughter to the woman standing in front of him. He nodded to her. "Thank you, Christine."

She nodded and turned her back on him, then stepping onto the gondola and beginning to row back to the upper levels of the Opera Populaire. After a moment, she was out of sight, never to be seen again by the masked man who loved her or the daughter she'd left behind, as the gate closed and the curtain fell behind her.

After another moment of looking after her, Erik looked back down at his deformed daughter, who was continuing to sleep peacefully in his arms.

"Christine," he murmured. "Christine, my baby girl."


	3. Chapter 2: Not Alone

Eight years passed, and Erik had never been happier. When he'd first returned to Paris, he'd had no reason to live. But now that he was a father, he'd been given a reason to live, so he lived every day of his otherwise worthless existence for Christine. His purpose now was to care for his daughter and educate her in everything he could, especially in music.

_If she's anything like her mother_, he'd think to himself, _she'll have a beautiful singing voice some day._

_Or_, he'd add to himself mentally in one of his rare conceited moments,_ if she's anything like you, which is the more likely thing, she'll have a beautiful singing voice._

So, along with educating her in reading, writing, and mathematics, he gave her voice lessons, which was his favorite part of every day, endlessly pursuing the voice that was sure to be inside of her.

Much to his dismay, though, his young daughter could be painfully curious. It wasn't normally something that bothered him, but she constantly asked about the mask he wore.

"Father, why do you wear a mask like me?" she'd ask innocently whenever there happened to be a moment of silence between them. (For this reason, Erik tried to avoid moments of silence at all times.)

"This is not a topic of discussion, Christine," he would say sternly while sighing inwardly. "You know this already."

"Is it because you're deformed, like me?"

Knowing that it would never end unless he gave her a satisfactory enough answer, he would then sigh and reply, "Yes, _ma cherie_. I wear a mask for the same reason you do."

"Why do we wear masks, Father?" she'd continue.

"Deformities are not nice to look at, that's why."

"But I don't mind mine so much," she'd say, and it was then that he'd wish that he still had the optimism and unbiasedness of childhood. "I'm sure I wouldn't mind yours, either, if I could see it."

"Which you never will," he'd reply firmly.

"Why?" It was a question she'd never stop asking, he was sure.

"This conversation is over, Christine."

"Oh, but Father!" she'd exclaim, her voice almost coming out as a whine. "Why not?"

In order to end the discussion, he'd ask, "Do you want some cheese with that whine, _ma cherie_?"

Then she'd laugh, always finding his jokes amusing, and the conversation would end until the next time that she started it again.

But one day, conversation that was ended with humor wasn't enough for her anymore. She wanted answers, and since she'd earned her father's determination, she was going to get them no matter what.

On the day that she made this decision, she took her daily voice lesson, then, when a moment of silence came, she started the inevitable questions. This time, though, she didn't start with the question that she always did.

"Father?"

"Yes, _ma cherie_?"

"May I see what's under your mask?"

He stiffened, pursing his lips together for a moment before shaking his head.

"You already know my feelings about this, Christine."

"But if I could just see it once -"

But he cut her off before she could finish, rising from where he'd been sitting on the bench in front of their piano and slamming his fists down on the keys, creating a jarring discord.

"You want to see?" he roared, staring at her with uncontrollable fury in his eyes. "_You want to see?_ Then look!"

As he shouted _look_, he grabbed his mask and threw it down. It landed on the floor with a soft clatter, and then she was left standing there in front of him, his bare face revealed to her for the first time.

As he stared down at her, waiting for her to be frightened or alarmed, he saw that she was making no move or gesture that would betray her fear. However, after a moment, he saw that her hands, clenched into tight fists at her side, were trembling. She was afraid, but she was trying not to show it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, angel," he whispered, getting down on his knees in front of his daughter and hugging her tightly to him, pressing his lips against her unmasked, undeformed cheek. "Forgive me... I have a truly inexcusable temper. I daresay you'll have one eventually, too."

After holding onto her for a moment more, he pulled away from her, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes intently, grey-green meeting grey-green, smoothing her dark hair down.

"Are you all right, my dear?" he asked softly.

She nodded quietly, not saying a word in response.

"I didn't frighten you too badly, did I?" he persisted, trying to get her to talk. He hoped he hadn't somehow made her mute with terror.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head and shrugging a little. "I'm fine. I suppose I... I just didn't realize how bad it really is. I suppose it's different when you're looking at another's face. But it was like looking at my own reflection, except I was you."

"So..." He tried to choose his words carefully. "You won't ask me to do this again, will you, Christine? You won't ask me about my face again now that you know that it's exactly like yours."

She shook her head, and he saw with alarm that tears were now starting to fill her eyes.

"What's the matter, dear?" he exclaimed, looking intensely worried as he started smoothing her hair down again, which he knew she found calming. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"I-I'm not beautiful, am I, Father?" she whispered sadly, her voice shaking as a tear ran down her unmasked, undeformed cheek. "That's why my mother isn't here."

He sighed inwardly, feeling bad because he'd been scarce on details whenever his daughter asked about her mother. He'd hoped that he'd forgotten her, but she knew quite a bit about Christine deChagny. He knew that the Christine before him had cried for her mother in her sleep several times, and he couldn't help but feel that it was his fault for telling her the little she knew about the woman that had given birth to her.

"No, darling," he said gently, wondering if what he was saying was true as he pressed his lips to her forehead. "That's not it at all... and even if you're not beautiful in the classic sense of the word, you're beautiful in your own way."

"Am I?" she inquired, and he nodded and smiled at her reassuringly, causing her to smile, too. "Are you?"

"I suppose I am, yes." He paused, sighed, and then kissed her forehead again. "There. Do you feel better now?"

She nodded and smiled again.

"Very good." He rose to his feet, then extending his hand down to her. "Then come, and you and I will prepare dinner."

She took his hand, and then they walked to the kitchen together. And from that day forward, Christine never again brought up her father's face, or even her own, instead forming her own ideas about it.


	4. Chapter 3: Sad News For Some

After a while, Erik finally consented to let Christine leave the catacombs and visit the world above and outside. He taught her how to row the gondola and warned her to always wear the cape with a hood he'd made for her and have the hood on over her head. Every time she left, which was about once a week, he gave her some money to spend. Then she'd return about three hours later with food, drink, paper and ink for composing, occasionally some small trinket for her father, and news, most of which was just gossip, from the outside world, for she, like her father, had a talent for sneaking around and spying without being detected.

One chilly night, when she was just about to arrive back at the Opera Populaire, she saw a group of people clustered nearby. She knew that these were the normal gossipers that she normally eavesdropped on, meaning that it was time to listen for news or gossip, which she thoroughly enjoyed. People living above the catacombs had the stupidest and funniest things to say sometimes.

She hid close to the group, staying in the shadows, close enough so that she could hear but far enough away that she could hear what the people were saying.

An old couple and a young couple stood in a group, talking in quiet voices, and she began to listen.

"Did you hear?" the old woman asked. "Elizabeth LeDean is pregnant!"

"Really?" The young woman sounded fascinated. "Who is the father?"

"Well, the ambassador of Spain, of course. Don't you see the way he looks at her?"

The others laughed politely, as though they thought the comment was funny, and Christine rolled her eyes. Above-grounders. Always trying to be funny or polite

The laughter ceased, and then the young man whispered, "Did you hear about the poor Vicomte deChagny?"

Christine's ears pricked upon hearing the name of the Vicomte deChagny, who was, she knew, her mother's husband. What news was there? She moved a little closer to the group, intrigued. Finally, a piece of interesting news.

"No," the old man whispered. "What of him?"

"Well, apparently," the young man replied, "his wife, Christine, the one who was a soprano at the Opera all those years ago; she was its female star on its last night, remember..."

"Yes, we all remember," the old woman cut in impatiently. "What about her?"

"Well, she... she died of smallpox."

She froze. Her mother? Dead? She listened for more.

"Really?" the old man breathed in obvious shock.

"Yes. Last night."

"What a pity," the young woman replied, clicking her tongue.

"Indeed! The Vicomte is heartbroken."

"I know somebody who might be more heartbroken than he," she muttered, tears in her eyes. Even though her mother had abandoned her, she was still related to her, and it was sad to hear that the woman who had brought her into the world was dead. She listened for more.

"... the funeral date?"

"Three days from now, at ten o'clock in the morning, at the cemetery on the other side of the woods."

She began to walk in the direction of the Opera Populaire, wiping away tears, knowing that she had to tell her father. She was sure he'd be heartbroken, but he had to know.

A few minutes later, she reached the shore of the lake, arriving back at the home that she and her father shared. She stepped off the gondola and removed her cloak, hanging it up and then going to the dining table and beginning to unpack. Her father greeted her, but her only reply was to hand him the paper and ink she'd purchased.

She tried not to notice that he was looking at her in surprise as she rather hastily put away the food and drink she'd bought for them, then placing the extra money she'd had from shopping in a small music box she'd received as a birthday present from her father, as the money was hers to keep.

Then she began to try and busy herself with other things, but her father stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Christine," he said gently, cupping her chin and tilting her face upwards so that their eyes met. "You're upset. What's wrong?"

Hearing him say _Christine_ made her eyes fill with tears, but she quickly swallowed them and led him to the dining table.

"I have news to tell you," she began reluctantly, not daring to meet his eyes. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing him upset, as she knew he was going to be.

"News?" he asked, his tone eager as he sat down at the head of the table and gazed at his daughter intently. "What news is there?"

"They were talking about Raoul today," she sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Upon hearing the name of his rival, Erik stiffened. He highly despised Raoul and sometimes regretted letting him live. But, for some reason, despite how much he hated Raoul, he still maintained some level of respect for him.

"Yes, what of Raoul?" he replied, his tone not completely icy.

"He's heartbroken," she informed him, quickly deciding that she was going to stall a bit.

"Pray tell why he's heartbroken," he said, raising his eyebrows and wondering why it was that his daughter cared that his rival was heartbroken.

So much for stalling. She took a deep breath and then looked down at the floor, tears filling her eyes.

"M-Mother's dead," she stammered.

There was a moment of silence that was deafening. But then his voice came, and it was very quiet, almost a whisper.

"What did you say?"

She looked up and saw that he was sitting there, staring at her with a stunned look on his face.

"Mother's dead," she repeated softly, swallowing a lump that was rising in her throat all of a sudden. "She died of smallpox last night."

He stared at her for a moment in stunned silence. Then it was his turn to swallow tears.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured, and then he looked up at the Christine in front of him. His daughter. Her namesake.

"Sit," he commanded, and she obeyed.

"Perhaps," he continued, sighing reluctantly, "it is time for me to tell you more about your mother, how I knew her, and what happened here at the Opera so many years ago."

She nodded, intrigued. What was she about to learn? What had happened here? She sat, these questions reeling in her mind, gazing at her father. Then he began.


	5. Chapter 4: Journey to the Past 1

"It all started here, in Paris, at this Opera, in the year 1870."

1870? Christine calculated in her head. _47 years!_

_Is Father really that old?_ she asked herself incredulously. He certainly didn't look it - his hair was still thick and black, as hers was, and his grey-green eyes shone as brightly as hers did. All she was was a younger, female version of him. She decided not to ask until he was finished.

"I'd helped to build this opera house, and when it was done, I decided not to leave. So I built this place," he said as he motioned around him. "I soon earned a reputation as The Phantom of the Opera, and chorus girls were most terrified of me. One day about eight years before the really important events, which I'll get to soon enough, two chorus girls were out on the stage, and I was hiding in Box Five. One of the girls told the other to sing for me. As you might guess, the other girl was your mother. Timid as she was, she began to sing. I thought she had a beautiful voice that just needed work, and I wanted to give her voice lessons. So one day I went to the mirror that led to her dressing room, the room that you and I use whenever we go outside, and started to sing for her to get her attention. She thought I was her Angel of Music, and so I thought that perhaps I could be. So I began to give her voice lessons."

He paused and sighed. "Eight years, eight wonderful years, passed, and I soon discovered that I'd fallen in love with your mother. I wanted us to meet, and perhaps marry eventually, and I wanted her to be lead soprano at the Opera. So on the opening night of a new production of _Hannibal_, I got things to the point where your mother sang for the new managers. They chose her to be the leading role that night, much to my satisfaction. The part of my plan where your mother became the Opera's leading lady was working out quite nicely, but the other part, the part where she would possibly fall in love with me, wasn't working already, and we hadn't even met" - his voice turned icy at this.

She nodded. This is where things would begin to get complex, she knew.

"That night, a young man, the Opera's new patron and your mother's childhood sweetheart, was in attendance. When he saw your mother on stage, he fell in love with her in an instant."

"Raoul."

"Raoul, indeed. He received entrance to her room after the show and invited her to dinner. She protested, saying that I, her Angel of Music, was very strict and wouldn't allow it. But he ignored her and told her to get dressed. Then he shut the door and left, the fool." Erik shook his head. "Well, as you can imagine, I wasn't about to let her get away from me, not when I was so close. So I locked the door, since the key was in the keyhole, and pulled out the key. I took it with me."

She drew in her breath sharply. "You locked Mother in her room? You locked Raoul out?"

"Yes. I know it was extreme, I'll admit it, but if I hadn't done it, you wouldn't even be here. Your mother and I never would have met. So anyway, I went to the mirror and began to sing to her. She knew who I was at once, and began to look into the mirror - she'd learned I was there during lessons, but hadn't dared to come too close to it. Then I appeared in the mirror, and she came through it and took my hand. We came down here, and she was completely entranced all the while." He gazed at his daughter thoughtfully. "You know, it's a shame that you don't look a bit like her... she was so beautiful. But it doesn't matter. When we came down here, I sang to her - I sang _The Music of the Night_, the song I sing to you whenever you have trouble sleeping."

She nodded and smiled. She loved it when he sang _The Music of the Night_ to her. Sometimes she just pretended to have trouble sleeping so he would sing it to her.

"Well, as you normally do, she fell asleep in the the bedroom as I sang it to her. Then I closed the curtain around her and left her for the night." He paused. "The next morning, I was sitting at the organ, composing, and she woke up and found me. She came over to me and started caressing my face, which caused me to completely surrender to her. Then, without any warning at all, she pulled off my mask for the first time."

She shuddered slightly, as she knew from past experience that nothing good would come out of that.

"I was outraged. I threw her down to the floor, which was the first mistake I made with her. Than I started shouting and cursing at her, eventually telling her to go back to the bedroom and to lock the door to... prevent things from getting out of hand." He glanced at her. "It's an... adult thing, Christine. I'm sure you know what I mean."

She nodded, feeling her face flush. So he wouldn't rape her mother out of anger.

"She obeyed, and thank God that she did. Then I sat back down at the organ to play out my anger and sadness. When I was calm, I put back on my mask and had her come out of the bedroom. Then I took her back above ground.

I came back here and wrote notes for Raoul, managers Andre and Firmin, the prima donna Carlotta, and Madame Giry, the only woman who ever showed kindness to me besides your mother. Then I delivered them and waited. About an hour later, everyone started coming in and reading the notes to each other. Since they all had their own ideas about who the sender was, it was quite a mess. When Madame Giry came in and had Firmin read the note she'd received, they all decided it was Raoul's doing." He chuckled to himself a bit and shook his head. "What fools! The only one with any sense in that group was Madame Giry - she was the only one who knew and believed that I was the one who had actually sent the notes."

"What happened next?"

"Carlotta got very angry, as the note just shared had said she was to play the silent role in the opera that night, _Il Muto_, and that your mother was to be the one to play the lead role. The managers appealed to her by saying she would play the lead and got her to stay. As you can imagine, though, I wasn't going to let that stand. So that night I let the opera run for a bit, then I replaced Carlotta's throat spray with a potion that made her croak like a toad. She took it and began croaking. The managers came out on stage and announced very loudly, so that I would hear, as I'd just come out for a few moments and made my presence known, that your mother would replace Carlotta as the lead role. That satisfied me, but my work wasn't done just yet." He stood up. "I need to get something to show you. I'll be back in a moment."

He left for a second, and then he was back. He was holding a rope with a noose. "This, Christine, is a Punjab lasso," he explained. "When the noose is tightened around one's neck, it suffocates and kills them. It's quite useful, and I've used it many times to my own advantage."

Her eyes widened. Her father - a murderer? He'd never mentioned that to her.

"Joseph Buquet, the chief scene-shifter, had seen me when I'd come out and seen where I'd gone, and began nosing about," he continued. "That irritated me, and so I cornered him and punjabbed him. Everyone saw him hanging by the neck and instantly panicked - some even fainted. Satisfied, I went up to the roof, where I suspected Raoul and your mother would soon be.

I was correct. They were speaking to each other about me, and it was clear your mother was quite in fear of me. Raoul, foolish as he was, didn't believe in me. I was hiding behind a statue, but I wanted to make my presence known - to both of them. So I called your mother's name. She knew who I was and clearly became afraid. Raoul was still doubtful about who I was, but he tried to comfort her. Then they started singing songs of love to each other as I listened - a song I sincerely hope someone will sing to you someday."

He paused and got a bit off-topic. "I have great hopes for you, Christine. I hope that someone will love you as I loved your mother, no matter what you look like. I hope that you'll have a beautiful voice that will stun the world if they ever get a chance to hear it. That's what I want for you. I just hope you get it."

He sighed and continued, "Now, back to 1870. After they sang to each other, they kissed, which was a heartbreaking moment for me. Then they left. I came out on the roof, feeling a strong sense of sadness and betrayal - something I hope you never have to feel. Than I became angry and swore revenge on them all."

"Such a story!" she exclaimed, stretching slightly and letting out a sigh. "You're not finished, though, are you, Father?"

"No. I'm only halfway through. "Would you like me to stop and continue later?" he asked.

"Oh, no!" she replied, fervently shaking her head. "Please continue! I love hearing about this, Father - I really do!"

"Very well. Then sit back down."


	6. Chapter 5: Journey to the Past 2

"All right - where was I?" Erik said with a sigh as he continued telling his story to Christine. "Oh, yes - I remember now.

Once I'd been betrayed by your mother, nobody in the Opera saw or heard from me for three months. I was composing an opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_, the entire time."

"_Don Juan Triumphant?_" Christine asked. "I've never heard of it. You've never brought it up."

"You'll find out why soon enough. So, one day, after three months of solid composing, _Don Juan_ was finished, and I decided that I would go to the masquerade, which was that night, and make my appearance in order to give it to the employees of the Opera House so that they could perform it. So I dressed up in the most fantastic costume, the Red Death, which I shall show to you later, if you wish, and made my way to the main hallway, where the masquerade was taking place. The music stopped and the lights dimmed when I entered, and everyone saw me. I came down that stairs and tossed the _Don Juan_ score on the floor. Then I began casting _Don Juan_. Carlotta would have a minor role, Piangi, the head baritone, would be Don Juan, and your mother would be Aminta.

When I your mother and I made eyes contact, it was clear to me that she was entranced once again, just as she had been when I'd brought her down here the first night we formally met. We started walking towards each other, meeting in the middle of the main staircase, and I saw her engagement ring from Raoul on her neck and pulled it off of its chain. Then I left."

"You just _left_?"

"Yes. Then, the next morning, your mother was going to the cemetery to visit her father's grave. I knocked out the stableman who was going to take her, disguised myself, and climbed into the driver's seat of the carriage. Then your mother got in, and we drove away. Little did I know, Raoul was following us."

She scoffed. "Of course."

"I dropped you mother off at the cemetery and parked the carriage. Then I went to her father's grave, climbed on top of it, and waited. Soon she came and sat. I was determined to win her back, and I sang to her, her Angel of Music once again. I was so close, but then Raoul rode up on horseback. I wasn't about to let her get away a second time, so I jumped off the grave and pulled out my sword. Then we began to swordfight. I cut him on his arm, and from then on he was determined to win more than ever. So he advanced on me and eventually knocked me down. He kicked my sword away and raised his sword to kill me. But your mother protested, and he backed away and they rode off on his horse together. I stood up, enraged at my loss.

I quickly came back here and began to plan how to win your mother once and for all. Meanwhile, your mother and Raoul were planning a plot of their own. They would perform _Don Juan_ in hopes that I would come to see your mother sing. The police would be there, fully armed, ready to kill me at a moment's notice. Your mother was going to betray me once again. But I wouldn't let that happen. Instead of just coming to _Don Juan_, I snuck in and killed Piangi, then replaced him as Don Juan.

When I came out, your mother and I sang Don Juan and Aminta's duet, _The Point of No Return_, together. As she and I stood on the scenery bridge together, I sang to her, pleading with her. She turned around and pulled off my mask for the second time in front of the entire opera. She betrayed me once again! So I cut a rope that held the chandelier up and fell through a trap door with your mother. The chandelier crashed, and I dragged your mother along back here, furious with her."

"So what happened?"

"I'm getting there, _ma cherie_. So we arrived back here, and I forced your mother to put on a wedding dress that I'd bought for her. We were about to make it 'official' when, not surprisingly, Raoul arrived. He begged me to let your mother go, then begged to see her. So I opened the gate for him, but I had other things in mind.

When he stepped in, I threw the Punjab lasso around his neck and tied him to the gate. I told your mother that if she wanted him to live, she'd have to marry me, and if she refused, I'd kill him then and there. They protested for a time, but I refused to bend. I was going to marry your mother, even if it meant that I had to kill somebody in order to get my way. Then, much to my shock, your mother slipped the ring I'd given her on her finger and kissed me. It was clear that she'd chosen to marry me. She was going to sacrifice her freedom to let Raoul live."

He paused and sighed. "It was finished then, of course... that kiss ended everything." He glanced up at her. "I want you to remember something, Christine - a kiss will always end a relationship for a member of the Vasilles."

"What are the Vasilles?" she inquired, knitting her eyebrows together in confusion.

"Oh - it's our surname, Christine. But as I said, a kiss will end a relationship for a Vasille - always. Remember that." He paused. "So, in the end, I let them go. They lived together, and I stayed here. I lived here in total misery until your mother came back and gave you to me. And that's the end."

"Wow," she breathed. "What a story. Will I end up the same way, Father?"

"I certainly hope not," he retorted. "I don't think that I could stand to see you go through everything I did."

"Now," he continued, "I have something to give you."

He stood and went to a drawer in the dining table, then opened it and produced a tiny gold locket. He walked back over to her and put it on her neck, clasping it together.

"There is a picture of your mother and of me inside," he informed her. "I want you to keep it."

She opened it and looked at the pictures inside, peering slightly in order to see the pictures clearly, as they were quite small.

"Is that Mother?" she asked when she saw a picture of a woman with brown eyes and long brown curls.

"Yes, and that's the only picture I have of her. I want you to keep it, Christine. Take care of it, won't you, please?"

She looked up at him and smiled, nodding. "I will, Father," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you."


	7. Chapter 6: Like Father, Like Daughter

**Disclaimer: I do not own the song **_**Heaven's Light**_** from **_**The Hunchback of Notre Dame**_**. I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it.**

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The saying "like father, like daughter" was very true in Erik and Christine's case. Erik began to learn this shortly after telling Christine of his past.

One day, upon returning from one of his rare trips above-ground, he saw that the entire lair was in a shambles. Several of his mirrors were broken, some of his sheet music was ripped, and things were thrown all on the floor.

He instantly knew who the culprit was. "_Christine Elizabeth Vasille!_" he shouted, his shout echoing through the entire lair.

A sniffling Christine pitifully crawled out from her hiding place underneath the organ.

"I - I'm sorry, Father," she stammered, trembling. "I got angry and I - I started wrecking things, and I couldn't stop!" She burst into hysterical sobs.

He sighed as he understood that there were now two people with furious tempers living in the same place.

"It's all right, Christine," he replied resignedly. "It seems you've earned my temper. We'll just have to learn to deal with it, I suppose."

"You're not angry?" she inquired, hardly daring to believe her luck.

"No. Now help me clean up this mess."

"Yes, Father."

Then, about a week later, he heard a strange humming noise coming from nearby. He stood up and went in search of its location, but whenever he seemed to find it, it moved abruptly.

After several minutes of frustrated and fruitless searching for the source of the sound, he finally understood what was happening and walked up to the swan bedroom, which was Christine's bedroom, and found her sitting on her bed soundlessly, staring into space.

"Practicing your ventriloquism, I suppose," he said softly to her.

She glanced over at him.

"_How did you know?_" a soft, muted voice asked out of thin air.

He chuckled. "_I'm a ventriloquist myself, _ma cherie," he replied, using his ventriloquism."_You're doing a wonderful job. Are you able to sing yet?_"

"I don't know," she replied, this time speaking normally. "I haven't tried yet. Should I try now?"

"If you wish to, yes."

Then, about a month after Christine had mastered ventriloquism, another characteristic of hers appeared - her dislike for the deformed side of her face, or, really, her face in general.

She sat sullenly in her room one day without her mask, crying as softly as possible. However, her father heard her and came in.

"What's wrong, Christine, _mon ange_?" he inquired, looking concerned as he sat down next to her.

She glanced up at him, her face tearstreaked and red.

"I hate my face," she muttered sadly with deep loathing. "I hate it, hate it, hate it! It's so ugly! Why do we have such hateful faces, Father?"

_I've asked myself that for years_, he thought to himself, and then he replied, "I'm not sure, love. But that's why we have the masks, you see?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do, Father." She sighed. "That's why we have masks..."

As she thought about this, she suddenly was filled with the inspiration to sing.

She stood up and walked over to the piano and sat at it. She began playing a tune that was unfamiliar to him and sang softly with it:

_So many times out here,_

_I've watched a happy pair_

_Of lovers walking in the night..._

_They had a kind of glow around them -_

_It almost looked like heaven's light..._

_I knew I'd never know_

_That warm and happy glow,_

_Though I might wish with all my might..._

_No face as hideous as my face_

_Was ever meant for heaven's light..._

She stopped then.

Erik stood there, spellbound by the fact that one - Christine was already composing music of her own, two - she had come up with such a melancholy song, and three - her singing voice was so close to perfection!

"Christine, darling, that's amazing work!" he exclaimed. "It's a lovely song, although it's a bit sad. But the best part is - you found your voice, Christine! You almost had it right then and there, I know it! Oh, I'm so happy!"

He then scooped her up in his arms and spun her around, causing her to laugh.

After a moment, he stopped, and then he set her down and said proudly, "Well done, _ma cherie_ - I am very proud of you."

She blushed. "It was nothing, really," she muttered. "Just freewriting, that's all."

There was, however, one difference between Erik and Christine besides the obvious ones, and that was their choice of musical instrument. While Erik tended to prefer to play the violin, Christine made it very clear one day that she had a different preference - the piano.

"I don't want to practice the violin!" she exclaimed mutinously. "I don't want to be a violinist, Father; I really don't!"

"Well, then, _mon ange_, what instrument would you like to play?" he asked her.

"The piano," she instantly replied.

He raised his eyebrows. "The piano?"

"Yes, Father - the piano."

"You shall have to prove to me that you are capable of being a complete pianist, then." He thought on which piece to have her play. "Play Mozart's _Piano Concerto in C Major_ perfectly, and I shall allow you to be a pianist and nothing else."

He didn't wait long for his request to be fulfilled, as she sat down at the piano, straightened herself a bit, and then played the entire piece from memory perfectly.

When she finished, she sat expectantly, waiting for his answer.

He nodded. "Very well - you are a pianist and a singer. Well done."

She clapped her hands delightedly. "Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.


	8. Chapter 7: The Opera Rejuvenated

"Father! Father!" an excited Christine, now a girl of 10, exclaimed as she rowed the gondola onto the shore of the lake as quickly as she could. "Father, come quickly!"

"What is it, _ma cherie?_" Erik asked as he rose from the piano bench where he'd been working on new music, raising his eyebrows at his young daughter.

She hopped off of the gondola and rushed over to him, clapping her hands together for a brief moment.

"Oh, Father - it's wonderful news!" she breathed, her grey-green eyes widening. "They're reopening the opera house... they're rejuvenating it!"

His heart skipped a beat. "Truly?"

"Truly, Father. They're opening it up again tomorrow, at the public auction, when they relight the chandelier with electric light! They've already hired new managers and choristers and everything!"

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. This news had almost been too much for her to handle - she had been wishing for multiple years that the Opera Populaire would reopen; she'd had an intense desire to see it in action, and now her wish was coming true.

The man in front of her, however, had mixed emotions about the news he'd just received. The Opera was reopening. Did that mean that The Phantom would have to resume his duties after nearly 50 years of unwilling retirement?

A large part of Erik wanted to be The Phantom again, but now that he was a parent, he had to think seriously about how it would affect Christine. He didn't want to be infamous again if it meant that it would harm his daughter in any way.

After a moment of silence, he glanced down at her flushed, excited face and finally replied hesitantly, "Well, that's... wonderful, dear."

She frowned slightly. "You don't seem very happy about it, Father. I thought you would be since you were The Phantom when the Opera was open before. Aren't you going to do it again?"

_Damn! It's almost as if she's reading my mind_, he thought to himself, wincing inwardly. Then he replied with a heavy sigh, "I'm not sure, Christine. I'm not sure whether I'll be The Phantom again or not now that I have you to think about."

"What do you mean?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in confusion. "I shouldn't affect whether or not you decide to be The Phantom again. You're the one who will or will not be The Phantom, not me; so why are you thinking of me?"

"Because, love, when I was The Phantom, I was gone quite often, haunting the Opera for hours on end. I can't exactly do that and raise you at the same time. I have to have my priorities in order" He paused. "Although it would be nice to earn 20,000 francs a month again... and to have Box Five..."

A thousand memories of 1870 ran through his mind, and then he looked back down at his daughter's expectant face and said to her, "Well, let's go to the auction tomorrow, the two of us, and then I'll think about it."

She smiled and clapped her hands together again in excitement. "Oh, good! I can't wait, really."

"Well, now you need to get excited about going to sleep - it's late," he replied with a smirk. "Had I known that you'd be out so late, I wouldn't have let you go. Now that you're home, though, you're going to bed."

"Sweet dreams, _mon ange_," he then finished, leaning down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then gently pushing her in the direction of her swan bedroom.

"Oh, but Father!" she exclaimed in protest, but then she proceeded to go into her bedroom, close the door behind her, remove her mask, and crawl into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She knew that there was no need to be tired when the chandelier lit up in all its newfound glory the next morning.

The next day, Erik and Christine went above-ground to the upper levels of the Opera Populaire, together in the outside world for the first time. They hid themselves in the shadows and watched the auction.

"That's Raoul," he whispered to her under his breath, motioning to an old man in a wheelchair. Then he motioned to a woman who was a noticeable number of years older than the wheelchair man. "That's Madame Giry, the woman who used to be my go-between when I had a message to send to the employees of the Opera."

She looked extremely enthusiastic upon seeing these people.

"It's so exciting to see people who you've told stories about, Father!" She then saw her father's facial expression and added hastily, her face becoming serious, "Not that I'm excited to see Raoul, mind you."

After looking down at his daughter for a moment, he shrugged and then turned his attention back to the auction, his eyes narrowing after a few moments of silence.

"So that's where the monkey music box went!" he hissed, looking rather irritated.

She, too, glanced back at the auction and raised her eyebrows when she saw the music box that he was referring to.

"What about the monkey music box, Father?" she inquired. "What's so special about it?"

"I made it when I was about your age," he explained. "It was with me as my only comfort for years. When I escaped from the lair that night all those years ago, I left it there, and when I returned shortly thereafter, it was gone. A mob member stole it, I supposed, and now they're selling it."

The two then silently looked on as Raoul and Madame Giry continued raising the bidding price against each other in order to make sure that they each were the one to get the music box, and eventually, Raoul received it for the price of 30 francs.

"Lovely - Raoul got it... the person I specifically wanted to _not_ get something of mine a second time." He sighed. "That's the way it is, though, I suppose."

After a moment's pause, her face lit up, and she patted his arm in excitement. "Look, Father! I think they're about to put up the chandelier!"

"Lot 666, then - a chandelier in pieces," the auctioneer said to the bidders. "Some of you may recall the strange affair of The Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained" - at this, some of the bidders glanced around the supposedly-empty Opera nervously.

"We're told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster," the auctioneer continued. "Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can... frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination."

The auctioneer then glanced at the men who had apparently repaired and rewired the chandelier. "Gentlemen?"

The cover was thrown off of the giant chandelier, and the electric lights came on. As soon as they did, Christine could have sworn that she heard a brilliant song coming from an invisible organ that played inside her head and her head alone.

It continued as dust that had been gathering on the chandelier for many years rose into the air and swirled around the observing bidders. Suddenly, although she hadn't been there, the colorful past of the Opera she lived in was coming back to her with each centimeter that the chandelier rose. Her face started to flush with all of the excitement, and as it did, she glanced over to her right at her father.

Erik's eyes were closed, and his face was lifted upwards. The past that he had in this Opera, the good and the bad parts, was rushing back to him, and he could feel a change within him.

"Take me back... please..." he whispered.

Then, suddenly, the invisible organ music stopped playing inside Christine's head, and when it did, Erik lowered his face back to normal level as if he, too, had heard it. His eyes opened, and Christine saw a new electricity that she'd never seen before sparking in them.

"I'm back," he whispered joyously to her as he looked down upon her, a brilliant smile coming to his face. "The Phantom of the Opera is back at last!"

Little did the two of them know it, but when he said that, the point of no return had been passed.


	9. Chapter 8: The Phantom Returns

When Christine woke up the next morning, she almost immediately noticed that the house was unusually silent. Normally, her father could be heard moving about the house, writing and humming music, or quietly playing the piano or the organ, but today, there was nothing.

"Father?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, as she crawled out of bed, put on her mask, and walked out of her bedroom. She glanced around the lair and saw that her father wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Raising her eyebrows in confusion and shrugging, she walked over to the organ and sat on the bench.

She then noticed a piece of parchment that wasn't a composition sitting on the organ where sheet music normally rested. It was a note that had been written in red ink, which she saw had her name written on it. She picked it up and read it.

_Dear Christine,_

_I've gone out to haunt the Opera a bit and to make arrangements for my salary. Don't worry - I won't be gone long; I'll just be gone long enough to get used to being The Phantom once again._

_I'll be back soon, and while I'm gone, you're free to entertain yourself as you wish until I return. However, I would prefer that you practice your piano piece so that I may hear it when I return._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G., also known as Father_

She smiled a bit as she placed the note back down on the piano, pleased to see that her father was going to be The Phantom again. It would be interesting to observe him as he lurked around the shadows, scaring ballet girls and the like, she was sure.

Deciding that she would do as he preferred, she walked over to the piano, sat at the bench, and began to play Chopin's _Prelude in B Minor_, the piece that she had been practicing for about a week.

She practiced with furious concentration until she heard the gate open, which told her that her father had arrived.

"Father!" she exclaimed delightedly when she saw the gondola rowing into view, rising from the piano and then running over to the edge of the shore of the lake.

Erik rowed the gondola onto the shore and stepped off. The moment he did, she ran over to him and hugged him, and he welcomed his daughter's embrace happily.

"Good morning, Christine, _mon ange_; how are you this morning?"

"I'm wonderful, Father." She smiled up at him. "You?"

"Lovely," he replied, smiling back at her and then motioning to the piano. "Did you practice at all?"

She nodded. "Do you want to hear me?"

"Certainly," he replied, sitting on the organ bench and then waiting for her to begin.

She sat down at the piano and began to play _Prelude in B Minor_ again. As she continued, she turned to him and asked, "Now, Father... how did your first day back as The Phantom go?"

"Quite wonderfully, dear. I think I nearly scared the managers to death with my ventriloquism."

She smiled widely, feeling extremely happy for her father. "Did you get your salary worked out?"

"I certainly did; my 20,000 francs will be left in Box Five for me on the first day of every month."

"You got Box Five exclusively as well?" she asked, delighted.

"I did. You'll love it up there, Christine; it's a spectacluar view of the stage. You can see everything." He paused. "Of course, it's all thanks to you, dear, that I'm back to being The Phantom. Had you not convinced me to go to the auction yesterday, I don't think I would have."

She shrugged. "It wasn't anything; I just wanted to see the chandelier get lit up. Did you dislike it, Father?"

"What, the chandelier?"

"Yes. After all, you're the reason that it was on the ground yesterday."

He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I didn't. I always thought that it was a beautiful chandelier, but it seemed that causing it to crash might make for a good distraction should something go wrong during _Don Juan_."

"Ah," she said, nodding as she then understood.

She was silent for a moment, then she asked, her tone lower, "Did you kill someone today, Father? Did you lasso anyone?"

"No. Nobody irritated me enough, and I also thought that it was a bit early to be committing murders again, considering that I just became The Phantom again today. Why do you ask?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I was just curious. I thought that... if you did sometime, could I - could I... watch?" she asked, her voice her voice transforming into a whisper that was barely audible.

He looked surprised. "I suppose so. Why?"

"I'm not planning on murdering anyone, but I wanted to watch just in case I... have to do it myself someday," she explained, feeling her face flush. She glanced over at him. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just... scared..." - she motioned to the mask with one hand, still playing the piano with the other - "I'm scared I'll get hurt."

"I'll kill anyone who dares to lay a hand on you, Christine," he whispered protectively, kissing her unmasked, undeformed cheek gently. "But if you wish for me to show you how to kill someone, then I will."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Whenever I feel my temper coming to killing point, then I'll run down here, get you, and then you may watch."

She laughed out loud as she finished the song. "I feel better now, Father, thank you."

Soon, Erik gave Christine his consent to accompany him as he wandered around the Opera one day during a haunting.

She watched, fascinated, as he scared the living daylights out of everyone that he used his ventriloquism on, crept through trap doors, and lurked in the shadows with all of the secrecy of a cat. He made a wonderful ghost, she couldn't deny that.

However, as she followed him stealthily, she suddenly felt herself being grabbed from behind and let out a little yelp of alarm.

"Father!" she gasped.

He whirled around just in enough time to see her being dragged out of sight by a scene-shifter named Jean Kessain. Kessain was infamous around the Opera for his constant drunkenness and his ability to take advantage of ballet girls, or, for that matter, any kind of girl. Sometimes, it was almost comical how much to him how much Kessain was like Joseph Buquet.

But now it wasn't comical. Kessain had his daughter, and God only knew what might happen to her if he couldn't get her from his grasp. He shuddered as he imagined it - his 10-year-old daughter, in a hidden corner, with a drunk, mindless, lecherous scene-shifter.

His fatherly instinct to protect her took over, and, his anger boiled over, he followed the sound of her muted and desperate, cries for help.

In a desperate moment, he silently prayed for the first time in decades: "Dear God, it's me... it's Erik. I know it's been a long time, but let me find her quickly, please... let me find her unharmed."

Then, suddenly, the cry was louder. "Father!"

Quickly, silently, he crept towards the sound of her voice. He came to a dark room, where he could hear her muffled cries coming from inside. Peering in the darkness, he saw Kessain's unsightly form hovering over Christine, who was curled up into a tiny ball on the floor. Much to his disgust, he saw perverted lust shining in Kessain's eyes.

Without any hesitation, he reached inside his cloak for his Punjab lasso and pulled it out, quickly walking behind Kessain and putting the noose around his neck.

Tightening it, he asked, "Do you remember that killing lesson that you told me you wanted, Christine?"

"Yes" was the barely heard reply.

"Well, you're going to get it - right _now!_" he replied, pinning Kessain to the floor and pulling the Punjab tighter and tighter as Kessain gagged and struggled as much as a drunken man could.

When Kessain's neck snapped, the pleasure he used to feel from killing rushed back through him, and he smiled with satisfaction as he dragged the body away and tied the lasso to the flies.

He walked back into the room and offered his hand to Christine, who took it and rose with his assistance.

"Did he hurt you?" he hissed. "Did he touch you?"

"No," she whispered, trembling and then starting to sob as she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Father - I was so scared!"

"It's all right, _ma cherie_," he whispered soothingly, wrapping his arms around her protectively. "He won't hurt you again. Nobody will."

After a moment, he pulled away from her and took her hand. "Come on - let's go back to the lair before they catch us here."

She wiped her eyes and sighed with relief. "Thank you, Father."

"You don't need to thank me, Christine. I'm supposed to protect you from the bad people in the world."

As the weeks went by, Christine, too petrified to accompany Erik above ground, stayed at the lair while Erik, his lust to kill renewed, stalked about the Opera, killing any man who he believed would dare to touch his daughter. Nobody who might harm his angel would be alive if he had his way, which, in the end, he always did.


	10. Chapter 9: Audition Near Scare

_You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry..._

_To that moment when speech disappears into silence..._

_Silence..._

_I have come here_

_Hardly knowing the reason why..._

_In my mind, I've already imagined_

_Our bodies entwining_

_Defenseless and silent..._

_Now I am here with you..._

_No second thoughts..._

_I've decided..._

_Decided..._

_Past the point of no -_

"Stop," Erik interrupted Christine during one of her daily voice lessons several months later, and she did as he told her to, stopping her singing.

He turned around to look at her, and then, after a moment of silence, he said to her, "I don't think you need voice lessons any more, Christine."

Her grey-green eyes widened in shock, hardly believing her ears. "_What?_"

"You heard me, dear. I'm not sure what else I can do for your voice. It's... well, I suppose _angelic_ might be the right word. Your mother's voice wasn't nearly as beautiful as yours is until she was 16, and you're five years younger than she is. You could get on any stage, at this very moment, and win the lead role in any opera. So no more. You're finished."

Then, without another word, he rose from the piano bench with a sense of finality and began to walk towards the kitchen to prepare the dinner that they would eat that night.

She stood there for a moment in stunned silence. Her father was stopping her lessons? She was only 11! Surely there must be something more he that could teach her...

Desperate to make him change his mind, she quickly regained hold on her senses and followed him into the kitchen.

"Father," she said, looking rather shocked, "you can't stop my lessons!"

"Why not, _ma cherie?_" he inquired, turning to her and raising his eyebrows.

"I'm only 11!"

"Age doesn't matter."

"I suppose that's true, but... surely there's something about singing I don't know - something you haven't told me about!"

He sighed and shook his head, feeling himself start to lose his patience. "I've taught you everything I know, Christine. I know everything there is to know about singing, or any kind or music, for that matter, and there's nothing more for you to learn. As long as you at keep exercising your voice every day, then you'll be fine. Your voice will be, and is right now, your power. Someone's going to be captivated by your voice someday, dear, and when they are, you'll thank me."

Then, without saying anything more, he turned his back on her and resumed preparing dinner.

She stood there another moment, clearly at a loss for words. She was done. Her voice was at its best. There was nothing else her father could do for it. How unbelievable!

After another moment of silence in which she regarded him thoughtfully, she said, "Father?"

"Yes, _mon ange?_"

She hesitated, then prompted, "Do you think... do you think that I could... sing on the stage? The stage out there, in the Opera?"

He stiffened and turned to her, his expression a mixture of fear and refusal. "No."

"Why?"

"Because, love, it's not a good idea at all."

"Well, why not?" she inquired rather impatiently.

"Christine, what is it that rests on the right side of your face?"

"My mask. What does that have to do with anything?"

"First, performers will not look kindly on being outdone by an 11-year-old girl who's never even audtioned for any role in any production before. Second, even if you were the best which you would be, you wouldn't be allowed to perform because of your mask and what's underneath it. Everyone would be trying to pry your mask off, and when they eventually succeeded, they'd insult you endlessly, and you most definitely wouldn't be allowed to perform then - you'd be so humiliated that you wouldn't want to, anyway."

"It sounds like you're thinking of what would happen to _you_, not to _me_," she muttered under her breath as she folded her arms across her chest, allowing her smart mouth to take over without even thinking about it.

"Watch what you say, Christine Elizabeth," he said, a warning tone to his voice as he gave her one of his stern looks. "My point is that you'd get hurt out there, which is exactly why we live down here. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand," she replied rather crossly. "But, Father - couldn't I at least _try?_"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm your father and I know what's best for you."

"I don't have to show them my mask, though, if that's what you're really worried about. I could" - she paused, trying to come up with a solution - "wear my cloak and have my hood over my head! They wouldn't be able to see my face that way!"

"I already said _no_," he repeated firmly, sighing inwardly at his daughter's inherited stubborness.

"Father, please!" she pleaded, actually getting down on knees in front of him and clasping her hands together in desperation, something that was sure to make her burn with shame later. "Oh, please just let me audition one time! Just one time... and then I'll never do it again!"

_This could be the only chance that she would get to perform publicly_, he thought to himself as he gazed down at her, battling his thoughts. _It would be a good opportunity for her - one that you never got._

After another moment, he sighed resignedly, "All right, Christine. The Opera is having a public audition for a new production of _Hannibal_ a few days from now. You have _Think of Me_ memorized, don't you?"

Hardly believing her ears, she replied, "Yes."

"Good. You'll sing it for the managers, then, and get the performing experience. But this is the only time, you understand? No more after this!"

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I just want this one time, Father - that's all. Oh, thank you so much, really!"

Then she scurried off to her bedroom excitedly so that she could pick out a nice dress to wear for the audition.

Three days later, Erik and Christine stood in the shadows of Box Five, glancing down at the other auditioners that stood on stage and observing several of the audtions.

"I don't know, Christine," he murmured to her hesitantly, letting out a sigh. "I have a bad feeling about this..."

"Oh, Father, I'll be fine," she assured him, shaking her head at his worry and kissing his unmasked, undeformed cheek in a meant-to-be-reassuring gesture. "You'll be able to see me, and you'll be so proud!"

"I don't doubt it," he chuckled softly, embracing her and then gently pushing her in the direction of the box's exit. "Now go. You're up soon. I'll be watching you from up here. Come right back up here the moment you're done."

"I will, Father," she promised, and then, without another word, she exited Box Five and scurried down to the stage below, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head in order to hide her mask as he looked after her, a bad feeling going through him and getting increasingly worse with each step that she took.

"All right," said Berrain, one of the Opera's managers, after a few more auditions had gone by. "Next!"

Christine rather timidly ventured to the center of the stage, her hood securely on top of her head. She glanced around her, marveling at the view she had. What a huge auditorium the Opera had!

"Your name, _mademoiselle?_" Berrain asked of her, not even bothering to look up at her.

"Christine Vasille," she replied softly, swallowing hard and trying to calm down her nerves. She couldn't believe that butterflies were wildly flying around inside of her stomach.

"Christine Vasille," Berrain then murmured, writing her name down on a piece of parchment. "All right, Christine. Go ahead and sing for us, would you, please?"

"Certainly, _Monsieur_ Berrain."

The accompanist gave Christine two bars, and then she sang:

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye..._

_Remember me_

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try..._

_When you find_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back_

_And be free,_

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me..._

She finished there, and for a moment, Berrain stared up at her as she stood on stage quietly, stunned. What a voice this girl had!

"_Mademoiselle _Vasille," he addressed her, obvious awe in his voice, "your voice is lovely. That was possibly the best audition I've heard all day."

"_Merci_, _monsieur_," she replied, glancing up in the general direction of Box Five, where Erik stood, looking down on his daughter with pride.

"I do believe that you are our next Elissa," Berrain then continued. "There is one thing I must ask, however, and that is that you would remove your hood so that I may see your face."

Erik and Christine stiffened in their separate places unanimously, and Christine protested, "_Monsieur_, I crave your indulgence in this. I would rather not."

"You must! You could not perform with a hood on top of your head for the entire opera... it would be a most ridiculous sight!"

"Then I'm afraid that I won't be able to perform. It is simply not possible. I apologize."

Then, without another word, she turned and began to walk off of the stage.

However, before she could make her way off of the stage and back up to Box Five, she was grabbed from behind and dragged back on the stage by a stagehand that Berrain had motioned to take a hold on her.

"No!" she cried out, struggling and feeling alarmed as Erik observed the scene in silent horror from Box Five, wondering what on earth to do.

"Pull her hood off!" Erisma, the other manager, commanded to her capturer.

Her hood was removed as she let out a scream of protest, and everyone gaped at the sight of the white half-mask on her face.

Feeling fearful that worse events would occur from there, Erik boomed from Box Five, using ventriloquism, "_Leave her alone... let her go at once! By God, if any of you dares to lay a hand on her, you'll pay with your lives!_"

"It's The Phantom of the Opera," someone whispered, and at that, anxious murmurs rose as everyone glanced around the auditorium nervously.

"No, no!" Christine lied, raising her hand in a gesture of protest. "It's not The Phantom; it's my voice tutor. Please, just let me go, and we'll forget that this ever happened... we'll forget that I ever auditioned."

Fearing being murdered, as they didn't believe that the voice they'd just head belonged to this girl's "voice tutor" the managers nodded in agreement, and Erisma said, "I do believe that that would be the best decision. You are free to go, _mademoiselle_."

She nodded, let out a soft sigh of relief, and then exited the stage and made her way up to Box Five.

Erik let out a sigh of relief as she entered and embraced her tightly, asking in a severe tone, "Do you see now why you can't do that?"

"Yes, I see," she said quietly, nodding. "I won't do it again, Father. I don't want to, anyway."

"Good," he replied, taking her hand as they exited Box Five and then made their way down to the lair together. "Believe me, Christine: one day, you'll sing for someone, and they'll be captivated by your voice. You can take my word for that."


	11. Chapter 10: Thirteen

**A/N #1: I apologize for the rather pointless previous chapter. I needed something to happen before the really big event, which will occur in the next chapter, happens.**

**A/N #2: I also apologize for the pointlessness of this chapter. Things just need to happen before next chapter.**

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday to you_

_Happy birthday, dear Christine,_

_Happy birthday to you..._

Erik sang to Christine on the morning of her thirteenth birthday.

Christine smiled softly. "Thank you, Father," she said.

Erik smiled back at her. "You're welcome," he replied. He handed her a small package. "Here. Open your present."

She took it from him. "What is it?" she demanded it eagerly, shaking it the tiniest bit.

"Open it. You'll see."

She tore off the glittering gold wrapping. Inside was a tiny wooden box. "Is it a music box?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Open it, _ma cherie_."

She opened up the box. Inside was a tiny model of the Opera stage, and in the center was Christine, her mother, standing in the middle of the stage, and she saw her father standing in Box Five, hiding in the shadows and observing her mother. The tinkling tune of _Think of Me_ played.

"It's lovely, Father," she said to him, smiling at the familiar music. She got up on her tiptoes so that she would be closer to his height and hugged him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, hugging her back. "Take good care of it, now."

"I will." She stood up and went to put the music box in a safe place in her room. She came back and sat next to him on the sofa.

"Well," she sighed, suddenly feeling rather bored, "what are we going to do now?"

He considered. "We could go outside," he replied. "Outside meaning above ground."

"What for?" she asked. "I have nothing to do up there."

"You're right," he replied. "Then let's sing." So he sat at the piano and began to sing _The Point of No Return_.

**You have come here**

**In pursuit of your deepest urge**

**In pursuit of that wish, which till now,**

**Has been silent...**

**Silent...**

**I have brought you**

**That our passions may fuse and merge**

**In your mind, you've already succumbed to me**

**Dropped all defenses,**

**Completely succumbed to me...**

**Now you are here with me...**

**No second thoughts...**

**You've decided...**

**Decided...**

As the music continued, the day passed. And all the while, Christine thought to herself, _Another year has passed... another useless year... I want to do something with my life... I'm not content with simply living underground._


	12. Chapter 11: Death and Murder

**A/N: Due to the content of this chapter, I expect to be murdered multiple times due to the fact that multiple reviewers will want to murder me. But as you all prepare your Punjab lassoes in anticipation, I want you to know that I'm already dead. It killed me to write this chapter.**

Christine and Erik sat in the lair one day shortly after her fourteenth birthday, writing music and reading.

Christine sat and read La Prisonniere, the fifth volume of A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu, her favorite series of books. The story was intruiging, and she loved reading it over and over. This was the third time that she'd read it.

Erik sat at the organ, scribbling some new music on a piece of parchment. Every so often, he played on the organ and hummed the music to himself.

"Would you like to try singing this later?" he asked her, turning to her.

She glanced up from La Prisonniere briefly. "Maybe," she replied, shrugging, and then she looked away from him and continued reading.He nodded and continued to write.

They both sat in silence for several more moments, but then he glanced up suddenly and looked around, his eyes narrowing.

"Christine, do you hear what I hear?" he asked his daughter, turning back to her.

She again stopped reading La Prisonniere for a moment and listened intently, trying to see if the silence she heard was truly nonexistent.

Evidently, it was, for after a moment, she replied, "I _do_ hear something, yes. What is it?"

"I don't know. Let's listen for a bit longer."

They sat and listened quietly for a moment longer. Then, suddenly, she realized what the sound was - music. It became louder and more understandable with each passing moment.

_Track down this murderer -_

_He must be found!_

_Track down this murderer -_

_He must be found!_

He heard it, too, and he muttered rather anxiously, "Oh, damn it... it's a mob. They're coming after us - after me!"

Then he glanced over at her. "Christine, close your book and come here to me," he commanded. "_Now!_"

She obediently closed her book. Still grasping it, he hurried to his side. "What is it, Father?" she asked. "Why is a mob after you?"

"They're apparently put up with the murders and extortion," he replied with a rather heavy sigh. "Now they want to get me."

He was then quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of the angry mob growing nearer before he finally looked down at her and said, "Christine, I want you to find a safe place to hide right now. I'll handle this."

She didn't move. She felt too anxious about what could happen from a mob coming after her father and herself.

"Christine Elizabeth!" he exclaimed as he rushed over to where his cloak was hanging and grabbed his Punjab lasso from an unseen place inside it. "By God, do what I say and hide - _now!_ It's for your own good!"

Afraid of being punished for disobedience but even more afraid of getting hurt, she quickly walked away from him, searching for a hiding place. She finally found a small place underneath the swan bed in her bedroom that she could just barely fit into and crawled inside, still holding on to La Prisonniere. She listened for something.

She heard someone who was a part of the arriving mob start to shout.

"Look! There he is! Get him!"

Then she heard her father's savage shouts in reply - "Go away! Leave me! Go away, or by God, I'll kill you all!"

She heard screams of terrified mob members and the sound of people sloshing through the water, heading back to the safety of the above world. Because of this, she almost laughed out loud. Nobody would defeat The Phantom of the Opera! She continued to listen to what was going on, intrigued by the action.

She heard the sound of two men struggling and guessed that her father was fighting the one person who dared to challenge him. Would that person regret it!

Then she suddenly heard the boom of a gunshot and the thud of a body hitting the floor. The sounds made a chill race up her spine, but she continued to hide, not yet knowing if it was safe to come out.

When she heard a truimphant chuckle and the sound of a person sloshing through the lake water and heading back above, she crawled out from her hiding place slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements in case someone who would bring her harm was still around.

She slowly straightened herself and looked around, not seeing her father standing nearby.

"Father?" she called out rather anxiously, seriously hoping that no one dangerous was around to hear her.

She heard a soft groan in reply. "Christine..."

It was her father's voice, she knew, so she stepped out of her room and walked out to the main part of the lair, where her father's call had come from. She then froze, for there, lying on the floor right in front of her, was Erik, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy, and his chest bleeding. He'd been shot.

"_No!_"she gasped, eyes wide with horror as she crouched down beside him on the floor. "No... Father..."

He opened his eyes and looked at up her, smiling somewhat weakly. "Oh, Christine, _ma cherie_," he breathed with relief, "you're safe."

She nodded fervently. "I'm all right, Father. And you... you'll be okay! I'll - I'll help you!" She looked around wildly. "Where are the bandages?"

"Christine, it's... no use..."

"Don't say that!" she exclaimed. "Father, you'll be all right! Don't worry! I can fix it! I'll help you get better, I promise!"

He let out a bitter laugh, then winced at the pain in his chest. "You may be intelligent, _ma cherie_, but you're... not a doctor... unfortunately." He paused, reaching out, and taking her hand in his. "It's all right, angel. I've had my time here... with you... my daughter."

Tears filled her eyes as the resignation his words showed. "Father, please," she whispered. "Don't leave me. I need you to stay here with me; I'm not old enough to take care of myself yet."

He managed another smile and kissed her hand. "You'll be fine without me," he said quietly. "You're 14 now. I trust... your competence. You're a strong person... like me."

"I'm not strong enough," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying to shut out the pain she felt for a brief moment. "I can't do it. I... I _won't!_"

"This is no time to be stubborn, dear." He looked into her eyes deeply, one pair of grey-green meeting another. "Just... promise me something."

"What? Anything, Father - anything for you!"

"Promise me... you'll... end up better than I did. Get... married. Have children. Be... the person I was never able to be. Please promise me that." He gazed at her, waiting for an answer.

She nodded, choking on tears. "I promise, Father," she whispered.

"Good," he sighed with relief, smiling a little. He paused for a moment. "Goodbye, Christine. I love you, _ma fille_."

Then he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, his last breath. He was gone.

For a moment, she simply sat there, looking down at him and thinking that he was simply resting for a brief moment, but then his hand went limp in hers, causing her to briefly lose her breath in horror.

"Father?" she whispered, letting go of his hand and placing both hands on his shoulder. She shook him gently. "Father, wake up! _Please_ wake up! No... don't leave me...!"

She then began to cry, resting her head on his bleeding chest. "Father... no..."

She sobbed for another few minutes, cursing God for taking away the only one on Earth who cared for her.

After what seemed like an eternity to her, she finally straightened herself as she let out a deep, shuddering breath and a whimper, wiping her eyes as she looked around the empty lair for a moment. Then something caught her eye.

There was a _gendarme_, holding onto a gun in one hand as he wandered around the lair, taking no notice of Erik and Christine on the floor. He snooped around, every so often taking little trinkets that had sentimental value to both father and daughter and sticking them in his cloak pocket.

Judging by the fact that he was holding a gun and he was just wandering around her home without acting threatened, she could tell that this man was the one who had murdered her father.

So, he was a thief as well as a murderer, was he? He simply thought that he could kill someone and steal whatever he liked from them? How dare he!

Anger burned inside her like fire, telling her that her temper had suddenly flared. She grabbed the punjab from out of her dead father's hand and rose, walking over to him from behind.

When she was right behind him, she put the punjab lasso around his neck and tightened it. The man stuggled, but her anger was giving her an adrenaline rush and therefore making her stronger than he.

Having seen her father do it so many times to other, she shoved him down and rather expertly pinned him on the floor with her foot, pulling on the punjab. She heard the man gasp for breath as he continued to struggle, but she could tell that he was getting weaker with each passing moment. She heard his neck snap, and then he went limp.

He was dead. She'd just committed her first murder.

Without feeling any guilt or remorse for what she'd done, she loosened the punjab from around her victim's neck and wrapped it around her arm. Then she pulled the items he'd been attempting to steal out from his cloak pocket and placed them on the nearby piano bench. She looked down at him and knew that, had she not been griefsticken for the loss of her father, she would have laughed hysterically.

She heard a shocked gasp behind her and whirled around. There stood a man, his hand on his mouth, his eyes wide in shock and horror.

She let out a little gasp herself, and then the two stared at each other for the longest time. There was utter silence.

After a moment, she finally motioned to the unfortunate man who was her first murder victim.

"Unless you'd like to share the same fate," she hissed at the man standing before her, "you'd better get out, quickly, and take care that you never come back, _monsieur_ - now."

His eyes still wide with shock, the man backed away slowly, then turned and ran back to the above world.

She looked after him menacingly for a moment, then dragged her victim outside, to the stables, and stuck him on top of the hay. Soon enough, she knew, he would be found by some of his fellow _gendarmes_ and would be given a grand funeral that he didn't deserve.

Then she walked back to the lair and over to the spot where her deceased father still lay. She knelt beside him, tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Father," she whispered, "I am so sorry that this happened. I'm so sorry."

She reached her hand over to his head and slowly stroked his hair, which was still as midnight black as hers.

_I have to build him a grave_, she thought to herself with equal depair and sadness. _A beautiful grave where he can rest with all of his valuables forever. But where do I start? I've never built before..._

This sudden stress quickly became too overwhelming for her. She began to sob, feeling distraught and completely helpless.

She sobbed for a bit longer, and then she wiped her eyes and looked around. She needed something to relieve her stress - quickly, or else she wouldn't even be able to survive the night.

Wiping her eyes, she rose and halfway picked her father's body off of the ground, as she was surprisingly strong for her age, dragging it out of the main part of the lair and placing it on the swan bed in her bedroom. She decided that he could stay there until she had a coffin and a grave for him to rest in. Then she walked out into the main part of the lair and sat on the organ bench, not really sure what to do with herself. Something on the organ then caught her eye.

There, resting on top of the organ, was a box full of needles, as well as a syringe. There was also a box of small containers that contained a clear liquid inside of them.

Letting out a surprising cry of delight, she stood up and looked down at them, her eyes burning with desire to use the items now at her disposal. To her, the items meant one thing - stress reliever. But, as she picked up the syringe, a needle, and a liquid container, then put the needle on the syringe and put a small amount of the liquid in the syringe, then stuck the needle in a vein in her arm, letting out a sigh of pleasure as she injected the liquid in her body, she knew what it really was.

_Her father's morphine..._


	13. Chapter 12: Graves and Funerals

**A/N: So, Erik is dead, and Christine is going to become a morphine addict. Such a happy story, huh?**

With the help of morphine, Christine began to design Erik's grave. She painstakingly worked on it day and night, stopping only to eat a tiny morsel of food and give herself a new morphine injection.

She one day stared critically at her pages of designs, doubting that these designs were good enough for her father.

Sighing heavily, she rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, feeling the sleep that she'd been depriving herself of for the past week starting to take over her. However, she was determined to have her father's grave designed as quickly as possible, so she rubbed her eyes again, harder this time, and stared down at her designs once more.

Seeing something that could be improved, she grabbed her pen and added something to one of her designs. She looked at it momentarily, then nodded in silent approval. She believed it was good enough for him now, but she wanted to see him and ask him first to make sure that he thought so, too.

She stood up with great effort and walked over to her bedroom, where Erik's body was still lying on her bed. She knelt next to the bed.

"Is it good enough?" she whispered to him. "Please, tell me... is it good enough?"

_Is it good enough?_

_That's what I've been asking my father's body every day for the past week about his grave. I want it to be perfect, but I don't know if I'll ever make a grave perfect enough for a man such as my father. Does everyone feel that way about their fathers' graves?_

_Oh, God, why did you take him from me? He was all I had in the whole world. He was the only one who cared for me. You never cared for me. My mother never cared for me. Only he did. Curse you, God!_

_I must be insane! I think I can build a grave suitable for my father, and when I'm in doubt, I go and ask his body, as though he'll respond. He's still there, and it makes me think that he's still alive. The morphine is making my brain rot, that's what it is. Yes, the morphine is the problem... and yet I continue to inject it into my arm every hour. I can't live with it, and I can't live without it._

_Just like I can't live without my father..._

_Curse you, God!_

Christine sat at the organ dully one day, staring at her designs for the tenth day in a row, as though staring would make something change. Her eyes felt heavy, but she fought against the sleep she'd been depriving herself of for the past ten days. She wouldn't sleep until she was finished!

She suddenly saw something that would make everything perfect, or, at least, perfect enough that it would satisfy her. She scribbled the changes down in pen, then scanned the pages to see if it was done.

After a moment, she let out a soft cry of joy. It was done! it was done, and it was perfect, and it was beautiful. She knew that her father would be pleased.

_It is finished!_

_God's son allegedly said that when he died, and I say it now, as I finally complete my father's grave. Perhaps I shall die soon._

_It's strange - only a year ago, I was rather quite terrified of death, even though my father gave it to people quite often. But now... now I just wait for death's release, for only in death and dreams shall I ever see my father again. And I'm tired of dreaming. Dreams are useless, for they only show you what could never happen in reality - what could never be while you're still alive._

_I would help along death's release with the morphine, but I'm already taking it at a rather dangerous level. If only that level were dangerous enough..._

_But no, it's not, and no, I won't take any more than I already use. I suppose that's a good thing. No need to commit suicide. It is enough that I live in the deepest depth of Hell, as I have for the past fourteen years._

_Living in Hell is simliar to death, and that is enough for me._

A few days later, Christine went above ground to go in search of stone to use to build her father's grave. She soon came upon a stone shop that sold the best stone in Paris. She opened the door and went inside.

"Good day, _mademoiselle_," the master mason greeted her. "How may I -" He stopped short when his eyes met her mask. "Oh."

She pulled a wad of francs out of her cloak pocket and held them in front of his face. "I shall pay you if you give me the vast majority of your stone over there." She pulled out a smaller wad of francs and added it to the first wad. "I shall pay you even more if you build a design that I have come up with. What do you say?"

He looked at the money hungrily. "What is it that you wanted built, _mademoiselle?_" he then asked.

"A grave."

"You designed a grave?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows in evident shock.

"Indeed I did. My father's grave, actually. I would like it built in a specific spot that I have chosen in the graveyard on the other side of the woods. How many men do you have?"

He considered. "Ten."

"That means eleven, including you. That is enough. I have made my offer. Take it or leave it."

He stared at the money another moment, then took it from her hand. Counting the bills, he asked, "When would you like us to start, _mademoiselle?_"

"Tomorrow, if you're slack at the moment. I would also like to stay at the site and act as overseer, so that I may make sure that it is built the way I want it."

He nodded. "Very well. I shall see you tomorrow, then, at the cemetery?"

"Yes." Then she turned on her heel and left the stone shop.

The next day, she arrived at the cemetery. The stonemasons were already there and had started building. She sat and watched, pleased that they were building the way she'd wanted it.

Then, after several hours of observation, she noticed that they were starting to do something wrong.

"_Imbecile!_" she shouted furiously at the unfortunate stonemason who had committed the wrongdoing. "What do you think you are doing? It's all wrong!"

"I'm sorry, _mademoiselle_," the stonemason stammered, looking alarmed at this girl's anger. "I didn't understand the design -"

She slapped him as hard as she could. "If you don't understand," she snapped harshly, "ask, damn it! _Ask!_"

"Yes, _mademoiselle_," stammered the stonemason, cowering. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She sighed rather resignedly. "Do you believe that you can correct your error and do it the right way?" she asked.

"I do."

"Good. Then get back to work before I do you great harm."

The constuction of the grave continued in this manner every day, and she became quite notorious among the stonemasons. They always huddled in corners during their breaks and whispered about the crazy masked girl who was quite genius to be able to design a grave such as this herself.

After three days, the grave was finished, and she let out a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to be so disagreeably close to above-grounders any longer. Now she could bury her father and forget the mess that had been constructing the grave.

The ceremony was simple and sad. She put Erik's body in a coffin that she'd designed herself and put his violin inside with him, along with all of his music and everything else that had been valuable to him. When she closed the coffin, she began to sing Mozart's _Requiem_, tears streaming down her face.

_Requiem aeternam dona eis,_

_Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis,_

_Te decet hymnus, Deus in Sion,_

_Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem,_

_Exaudi orationem meam,_

_Ad te omnis caro veniet,_

_Requiem aeternam dona eis,_

_Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis,_

_Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison,_

_Kyrie eleison..._

_He's been buried now. He's at rest. I can finally put this ordeal behind me._

_Curse you, God! I'll get my revenge someday, I promise you that! You'll regret the day that you chose to have my father killed!_


	14. Chapter 13: Friends

Christine sat in the lair, which was now hers, as was everything else that had once belonged to Erik, one day, not really sure of what to do with herself.

She was tired, but she didn't want to sleep. She was bored, but she didn't have any ideas for what to do to entertain herself. She was sad, but she didn't know how to make herself happy. She was hungry, but didn't feel like eating.

_Ever since my father died, I've led a pathetically dull existence. I eat a small morsel of food, sleep for half an hour, poison myself with morphine, cry, and then sit around, pondering what to do next._

_If I had the energy, I'd venture above ground and possibly amuse myself by spooking or killing some witless idiot unfortunate enough to cross my path. I'd like to kill or haunt every man in the world right now, but I have no energy to do so._

_I need inspiration... or, at least, something to do._

_Father, help me!_

A few days later, she finally had the energy, as she'd eaten a decent amount of food that day, to venture out into the upper levels of the Opera.

Moving soundlessly, she wandered around her father's old haunts, recalling fond memories she possessed of watching him strike fear into the hearts of everyone in the Opera. How she missed her father...

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her father out of her thoughts.

_You must not think of him!_ she thought to herself desperately. _You'll just want more morphine._

Thinking of morphine made her want to scurry back to her lair and use the needle of short-lived peace and ecstasy on herself, but she was determined not to. She had decided to go past an hour without morphine. It was killing her, not that she minded dying now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a shocked gasp. She whirled around and faced the man who'd witnessed her commit her first murder. Why was he here? Nosy fool, that's what he was!

She glared at him, slowly backing into the shadows. "I thought I told you to stay away, _monsieur_," she said rudely. "Are you following me now? Have you forgotten my threat? Because," she continued, her voice threateningly soft as she pulled her punjab lasso out of her cloak pocket, "I could easily remind you - by making that threat happen! Is that what you want? Are you some sort of suicidal fool?"

The man gazed at her steadily. "It just so happens that I work here, _mademoiselle_," he replied, his tone surprisingly kind, "and I caught sight of you. I'm afraid you're not as stealthy as you'd like to think."

She stared at him, not sure of what to say. She almost couldn't believe her ears. He was insulting her! He was insulting her, and she wasn't doing anything about it! Her face twitched in anger, but she didn't say anything to him. She remained stonily silent.

"If you'd like to kill me, _mademoiselle_," the man said, his tone still as kind as ever, "I pray you'll do it in good time, because standing here, staring at me, just gives me more of a chance to escape."

How dare he! She'd like to kill him, and yet... something in her wanted him to live.

"What is your name, _monsieur?_" she finally asked him.

"My name is François Jannes. I work here as a scene-shifter. And you are?"

"Christine. Christine Vasille. I... live here."

"I knew that," he replied. "You were, after all, underground in that lair two weeks ago, when The Phantom was muderered."

Upon hearing this man mention Erik, a saddened expression suddenly crossed her face.

"Was he your father?" he asked gently when he noticed how she looked.

"Yes," she whispered, wanting nothing more than to run away, back to her lair and to her morphine. She swallowed back tears. "Yes, he was."

"I am truly sorry," he said compassionately. "How sad you must be! I imagine you two were close?"

"Very. He... he was my only companion." She accidentally let a sob escape from her throat as she stepped back from him. "I'm sorry! Will you - forget you saw me? I - I have to go!"

Then, without another word, she turned and fled, sobbing.

_I met someone today - someone who was shockingly rude, insulting, kind, and compassionate. I didn't know there were people like him left in the world._

_His name is François Jannes, and he's a scene-shifter here at the Opera. I think he must be somewhere in his early forties, perhaps younger. He witnessed my first murder and did nothing about it, much to my surprise. Then he saw me today and talked to me, as though I were some sort of common Parisian that he met on the street. It was almost as though I was... normal. He treated me in a way that I'd never thought anyone except my father would treat me._

_I don't really know what to think of him. Something in me wants to kill him, and I didn't do it today, but then... something in me wants to talk to him again. It was nice to talk to someone again._

A week later, she noticed François snooping around. She hid in the shadows and then appeared beside him.

"Ahhh," he said, smiling at her. "_Mademoiselle__ le fantôme!_ How good to see you again. What are you doing right now?"

She shrugged. "Wandering around, that's all - that's all I really do any more. What are you doing, _Monsieur_ Jannes? Snooping around some more, I presume?"

He laughed a little. "No, _mademoiselle_ Christine. I was simply looking for you."

"Why?"

"To speak to you."

She was silent for a moment before she inquired, looking rather confused, "Why?"

"I just wanted to see you, that's all," he said in a friendly tone.

"Well, then," she murmured. "I'm not a phantom, by the way. I'm simply his daughter."

"I see." He paused. "Well, Christine, I suggest that you 'disappear' before someone sees you. Shall I see you again soon?"

She considered, knowing full well that she desperately wanted to talk to another human again.

"You know where my lair is, don't you?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"Then come tomorrow night. I shall prepare you some dinner. Until then..." She made a sweeping, theatrical motion, then disappeared into the shadows and went down to her lair.

_I'm preparing a dinner for Monsieur Jannes tomorrow night. Why? I don't know._

_I'm just too damned lonely, I suppose. Yes, I'm lonely down here in Hell, and I need someone to entertain. I never entertain visitors. This will probably be the only time, the one exception, however._

_Oh, I just remembered - I have to hide my morphine! Nobody can know about that - it is my one and only secret that should remain completely secret._

The next night, Christine was preparing dinner for her meal with François, which was a vegetable soufflé, when she heard a noise. She glanced around and saw François, dressed in a nice outfit and a bouquet of roses in his hand.

"Hello," he greeted her with a smile. He held out the roses. "These are yours."

She took them from him and smiled a little as she filled a vase with water and placed the roses in it. "They're lovely, _Monsieur_ Jannes. Thank you. Dinner will be ready soon," she informed him. "Just have a seat at the table."

He sat at the table and sniffed. "Is that a vegetable soufflé that I smell?" he asked.

"Indeed it is. My father's recipe. You'll like it."

Shortly after, the soufflé was ready. She set his down in front of him, and then she set hers down in front of her place and sat. She started to pick up her fork and eat her soufflé.

"Shouldn't we say a blessing before we eat?" he asked, looking at her with surprise.

She stopped short and glanced up at him. "There is no God to say a blessing to," she said quietly. "My father told me that many years ago. There are beautiful churches... there is beautiful music... but there is no God."

He looked at her sadly, then proceeded to eat his dinner in silence.

When the dinner was finished, she cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then she sat at the piano and asked, "Shall I play a song for you?"

"Certainly," he replied, taking a seat. "Go ahead."

She smiled a little, then started to play a song on the piano. When he was done, he clapped.

"That was wonderful," he said, smiling. "Well done."

He then pulled out his pocketwatch. "Well, I must go," he said regretfully. He stood. "I shall see you later, then?"

"I suppose. Will you come back tomorrow, though - please?" she asked, desperate not to lose contact with another person when she'd just gotten it back.

He nodded and smiled. "Certainly. I shall see you tomorrow, then." Then he left.

_What in heaven, or hell's, name is wrong with me? I can't bear to not speak to another person! Why is that?_

_I'm too damned lonely! That's all it is! Dear God, I need to get over my loneliness!_

_How I wish my father were here..._

_I'm preparing a dinner for Monsieur Jannes every night this week. I can't get rid of being around people._

_Damn!_

Two weeks later

_Well, François and I are friends of the strangest sort. He watches me like a hawk when he sees me, and I prepare him dinner every so often. It's an odd friendship, but it's nice to talk to another human regularly again._

_I just wish that I had someone who I loved, or who loved me..._


	15. Chapter 14: A Meeting in the Cemetery

"Where are you going?" François asked Christine as she sat on the organ bench, reading a book.

"To the cemetery," she replied. "I'm going to see my father." She paused and raised her eyebrows. "Why are you here? Did I invite you?"

François glanced up from his book, amused. "Yes, Christine. You invited me," he said. "Don't you remember?"

She shook her head. "No. I must have forgotten. Never mind. Well, I'm leaving. Are you staying here or are you leaving?"

"I suppose I'll stay. Do you mind?"

"No, just don't steal things. Not that I think you will," she added quickly when she saw his facial expression. "I'll be back shortly. Help yourself to some food if you get hungry."

"Thank you, oh gracious Christine," he said sarcastically. Then he resumed his reading.

She smiled the tiniest bit, as she was getting more used to his odd sense of humor with each passing day that they were friends.

She stepped on the gondola, a bouquet of black-ribboned red roses in her hand. Then she grabbed the paddle and rowed away, thankful that she'd taken a good amount of morphine to make her not go hysterical when she saw her father's grave.

When she reached the above world, it took a good twenty minutes to walk to the cemetery. She was halfway tired by the time she reached Erik's grave.

She soon arrived there and sat down at the steps, letting out a long sigh. "Hello, Father," she murmured as she sat, as if Erik would actually respond. "How has everything been in that coffin? Is it uncomfortable?"

When there wasn't a reply, she said, "Oh, that's all right. I'm sure you're fine. You must be happier in Heaven than you were here - if there is such a place as Heaven." She paused. "I've made a new friend. His name is François Jannes. He's a scene-shifter at the Opera. He's not a drunk or a lecher, like the others, though, so don't worry. He's a good man."

She sat in silence for a few more moments, until she heard a creaking sound behind her. Gasping, she whirled around, still sitting, and saw that there was an old man in a wheelchair, a chaffeur, and a nun standing there.

While the chauffeur and nun gaped at her mask, the old man gazed at her steadily without any sign of shock or fear. Then he glanced up to the inscription on the top of Erik's grave.

After staring at it for a moment, he looked back down at where she was still sitting. "You are _his_ daughter, then," he said to her.

She slowly rose and walked a little closer to him, as she recognized him from four years ago, when the Opera had been rejuvenated.

"Raoul," she said quietly. "Yes, I am Erik's daughter."

He nodded and feebly motioned to the grave. "So, he died, did he?" he asked.

Tears coming to her eyes, she nodded. "Yes," she said softly. "About a month ago. He was shot and murdered."

Raoul nodded slightly. "Well," he said, "the world is a better place without him. Good riddance, I say."

At that, her sadness immediately turned into anger. She walked even closer to him, her eyes narrowing into slits.

"Do you know whom you speak to, Raoul?" she asked angrily. "You speak to his daughter! It would be wise not to say such things in her presence, especially since she is already a murderer!"

Raoul made a foolish facial expression. "You know, you should be nice to me. I am your mother's husband. That makes me your stepfather."

She laughed cruelly. "I should be nice to you?" she asked harshly. She walked right in front of him and squatted down slightly.

"You know," she said softly, "you're very lucky, very lucky indeed, that my father did not kill you all those years ago." She wrapped her slender fingers around his neck, and he started to gasp for breath.

"However," she continued, "I could change that and make it happen right here, right now! Is that what you wish?" She tightened her grip on his neck.

He started to choke. "No; no, please," he gasped. "Let me go, please! I'll never say such things about your father again! Please, just - let me go! I shall leave right now! Please, Erik's daughter!"

"My name is Christine," she growled, letting go of his neck.

He rubbed his neck. "Christine?" he asked awkwardly. "Well, then, er - Christine, I shall leave. Goodbye."

With that, Raoul made a gesture towards his chauffeur, who turned his wheelchair around and walked away.

Fuming, she walked off in the opposite direction, back towards the Opera to take another morphine injection in order to calm herself down.

_I came face-to-face with Raoul today. It was strange, and it also angered me. He insulted Father! How foolish! I'd have liked to kill him! I wish I had._

_I can see now why Father wished him dead. He is a person that I do not like! I hate him! Oh, do I hate him!_

_I'm very glad that I have morphine to relax me and help me forget what had happened - for a little while, at least. How wonderful morphine is. I'm glad my father had it._


	16. Chapter 15: The New OG

_Oh, God, do I feel so incredibly bored lately. All I do all day long is sleep, eat, get one moment closer to death with morphine, try and write music, visit François at the upper levels of the Opera, cook for François, and cry over the death of my father._

_I need something to do. I'm not very easy to amuse any more, and it rather pains me. I suppose it means that I'm getting older._

_Wait a moment - a thought just occurred to me. A bloody brilliant thought! Why didn't I think of it before?_

"What are you writing?" François asked Christine as she sat at her organ, scribbling something on a piece of paper in red ink.

"A note," she mumbled, too occupied with writing to look up. "A note to the management."

"The management?" he inquired. "Whatever for?"

She didn't reply for a moment as she finished her note. Then she sat upright, put the note in an envelope, and sealed the envelope with a skull-shaped red wax seal.

"I'm going to be hired by the management," she said simply, turning around on the organ bench and looking up at where he stood. "I'm going to have a position at the Opera."

He laughed a little. "And what are you going to do? Scene-shifting, perhaps?" he joked.

She smiled a small smile and shook her head. "No. I'm taking over my father's post as The Phantom."

"You're going to be The Phantom of the Opera?" he echoed, his smile suddenly fading. "You're going to be the Opera Ghost?" He tried to think up an excuse for her not to have a rather dangerous position. "You're female."

Shrugging, she replied, "The words 'ghost' and 'phantom' don't necessarily apply to one sex. I could be The Phantom, if I really wanted to. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

She stood up, the envelope in her hand. Pulling on her cloak, she finished, "I'll be back soon."

Then, before he could make a word of protest, she stepped on to the gondola, grabbed the paddle, and rowed away.

She silently crept to the managers' office as she reached the upper levels of the Opera.

_This had better work_, she thought to herself. _If it doesn't, maybe I'll just make the morphine a slightly more dangerous level... I need a purpose in this life._

As she reached the managers' office, she saw that the door was shut and that the light was on inside. She heard the managers, Berrain and Erisma, talking.

"Oh, thank God we've gotten rid of our Phantom problem!" sighed Erisma in a slurred, drunken voice. "Now nobody will be afraid to come to the Opera, listen to horrid music, and give us more money!"

"I'll drink to _that!_" agreed Berrain, and then she heard the sound of glass clanking together.

She chuckled. So, they were glad that The Phantom was gone, were they? Well, they would be pulled out of their perfect world in a split second with one motion!

Smiling to herself, she slid the note under the door and waited, crouching down by the doorframe.

"What's that?" asked Erisma as he apparently took notice of the note. "An envelope. Here."

She heard the envelope being ripped open. "It's a note," Berrain mumbled. "_'Gentlemen, I have written to apply for a position at this great Opera. Actually, not apply for a job, but demand a job. I am now, as of this day, going to become the Opera Ghost. As did the previous Opera Ghost, I demand a salary of twenty thousand francs a month and also to have Box Five exclusively. I shall look forward to having my salary inside Box Five on the first day of every month. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Your obedient servant, O.G.'_"

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed Erisma. "Another one! What is this about? Why must this Opera have a bloody ghost?"

Deciding now would be a good time to persuade the managers further, using her ventriloquism, she said, "_Every good Opera has a ghost, _monsieur_. This Opera won't be very interesting if it doesn't have an urban legend living inside of it!_"

"What was that?" asked Berrain nervously. "I'll bet it's someone outside the door! Go look, Erisma."

There was a pause, and then the door opened, shedding light on Christine's crouching form. She quickly moved into the shadows so she wouldn't get caught.

Erisma looked around. "There's nobody there!" he said crossly, closing the door. "No one! There is a ghost! We'd better do what he says."

Her face twitched in anger. He? _He?_ How dare they automatically assume that the Opera Ghost was male! Quietly letting out a huffy sigh, she crossed her arms underneath her cloak.

"All right, so what does the ghost want?" continued Erisma. "Twenty thousand francs monthly and Box Five. That can easily be arranged..."

Smiling with satisfaction, she stood up, turned, and headed back down to her lair.

"What happened?" asked François when she returned. "Did you get the job?"

"Indeed I did," she replied. "I'm now The Phantom of the Opera."

Sighing with dissatisfaction, he picked up a book and started to read it.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his reaction. "What?"

He glanced up from his book, sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Look, Christine," he began. "It's a dangerous idea, being The Phantom. Look how it turned out for your father in the end, God rest his soul."

She glared at him. "I'm fully aware of the consequences that will possibly come from my job, François," she snapped. "What do you take me for, some witless, naive, teenage deformed monstrosity?"

He shook his head. "You're not a monstrosity, dear," he replied. "Your deformity means nothing to me. It doesn't automatically define you. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. And no, I don't think you're idiotic."

"Good," she said, then turned around and started to sit at the organ. Then she saw her morphine sitting on the organ. Gasping, she quickly grabbed it and stuck it in a safe spot.

"What?" he asked, looking up from his book.

She faked a smile. "Nothing," she lied. "Nothing at all." Then she turned back to the organ and started scribbling on a new piece of music.

He looked at her suspiciously, then shrugged and resumed his reading.


	17. Chapter 16: François and Morphine

Two weeks after Christine became The Phantom, François came to visit her down in her lair one day.

Christine sat at the organ, scribbling on a piece of new music, when her eyes started drooping. Then, suddenly, they snapped open again.

This process repeated several times before he noticed it.

"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly. "Do you feel all right?"

Her eyes snapped open again, and she glanced over at him. She knew for a fact that her tiredness was a result of the morphine she took, but she chose not to tell him that and replied with a shrug, "Nothing. I suppose I'm just tired from all the times that I wander about at night."

"I'm not surprised," he muttered. "You're hardly ever here any more. What do you do when you _are_ here?"

She shrugged again. "Write music, draw, sleep, eat, and... repeat the process."

_And poison myself with morphine_, she mentally added.

After they had looked at each other for another moment, she crouched back over her sheet music. He looked at her for a moment, then took notice of something that he hadn't before. There were multiple syringes, containers of clear liquid, and needles scattered about her organ.

He had no clue what those things were, so he looked at the items from his seat for a moment. Then he stood up and walked over to the organ, no longer able to hold in his curiosity.

She noticed that he was now standing by her and looked at what he was staring at - her morphine.

Drawing in her breath sharply, she looked up at him, feeling somewhat fearful as to what his reaction to an inevitable revelation would be. What would he say? What would he do? Would she lose her only friend over her insatiable addiction?

After a moment, though, she decided that she actually didn't care any more; she knew she was far too addicted to morphine now to give it up. It was a crutch for her. So, without saying anything to him, she turned back to her music.

François stared at the mystery items for a moment, and then he finally realized what these things must be - or, at least, what the clear liquid was.

Feeling angered and betrayed that he hadn't known about her addiction earlier, he grabbed a container of morphine roughly and then forced her to turn and face him by grabbing her shoulder and turning her around.

"What is this?" he demanded, waving the container in front of her face.

"Morphine," she said with indifference, freeing her shoulder from his grasp and turning back to her music. She shrugged. "Morphine, François. But, then again, you figured that out a moment ago, didn't you? You didn't need me to tell you that."

He glared at her. "Why are you taking morphine?" he growled. "You must know it's not good for you."

"I do," she sighed dully, not bothering to look at him. "What's your point?"

"Well, for one thing, Christine," he began, "it's dangerous, and it -"

"Will kill me?" she finished, sneering. "Yes, what a horrid loss to the world _that_ would be!"

"Christine -"

"I don't want to hear it," she interrupted. "I know perfectly well that I could die from morphine. Why do you think I'm taking it? I don't want to be here any longer, anyway."

He stared at her, angry, for a moment, in silence before he finally said, "I don't want you taking this any more." He waved the morphine in front of her face once again. "Do you hear me, Christine?"

She drew in her breath sharply, suddenly feeling angry. How dare he! How dare he tell her what to do! Who did he think he was?

She stood up abruptly, whirling around to face him. "Don't order me around in my domain, François!" she shouted at him, her face starting to turn red. "You're not my -"

But then she stopped short, causing him to lean a little closer to her, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm not what?" he asked in a rather taunting tone that he didn't really mean to use. "Your _father?_"

She stared at him in silence for a moment, clearly stunned that he'd actually said it. She tried to come back with something smart, but all she could do was stare at him in shock, speechless.

Then, suddenly, she felt tears starting to well up in her eyes. "Get out," she managed to choke out. "Get out! _Now!_ Damn you, François, don't make me kill you now! Get out!"

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the lair through another exit that led to the barns in stony silence.

She looked after him, surprised that he'd left. She certainly hadn't expected him to; he was quite stubborn at times. Then a million emotions ran through her at once and, since she wasn't able to take it any more, she sat down on the organ bench and covered her face with her hands, starting to sob.


	18. Chapter 17: Cameron

_François and I made up yesterday as I lurked around the Opera and he moved backdrops around. He was truly apologetic, although I think that he was still a little angry with me._

_"I'm just concerned about you, Christine," he'd said in his typical worried tone._

_Ha! Concerned! There's something new from someone. Nobody cares about me - or, at least, the only ones who care about me are the ones spreading the legend of The Phantom of the Opera throughout the Opera._

_It's quite interesting to be famous - or, perhaps in this case, infamous. I haven't committed a murder yet, but the whole company goes in fear of me. They scream every time they see me. Well, the chorus girls do, at least._

_It's also quite charming as well. The choristers have come up with a theme song for me! Every time something strange happens in the Opera, I'm the one to blame, and they burst into song with the charming little tune they've made up. I often find myself humming it as I lurk in the shadows._

_Perhaps I could live like this. Maybe I could be alone and it would be all right. Maybe..._

One day, not too long after the morphine incident with François and the day after he apologized, Christine lurked around the Opera, looking to see if she could give someone a good scare. She enjoyed doing that and did it every time the opportunity presented itself.

She was hiding by a wall by the floor of the stage, where there was a small window to see the stage on. The men's chorus was having a rehearsal and were singing and dancing about the stage. It was then she caught sight of someone she'd never seen before.

There, in the center of a stage, was a young man with loose blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a rather breathtaking smile that stretched from ear to ear on his handsome face. He stood on the stage, talking to another member of the men's chorus and laughing a contagious laugh every so often.

Looking at him, she felt something new rush through her. She'd never been in love before, but she was sure that this was what it felt like. He was so... handsome!

"_Oh_..." she breathed softly, then continued to stare at him with glazed fascination.

François then walked by and caught sight of her. He walked up to her to greet her, but she took no notice of him. Then he saw that she was staring at something - or someone - out on stage. He followed the direction of her eyesight and then saw who she was staring at.

"Is there something you see that you like, Christine?" he asked, a small, knowing smile coming to his face.

She gave him a side glance of acknowledgment, then turned back to the stage at the spot where the young man stood, the entranced look he'd seen before starting to come to her face once again.

"Oh, François," she replied, sighing rather dreamily, "who _is_ he?"

"You mean the young man you're gaping at?" he said lightly. "His name is Cameron Luc. Men's chorus. Came here from London four years ago to have a career at the Opera."

"How old is he?"

"Nineteen."

She nodded. "Is he any good of a singer?" she demanded.

"Who knows?" he sighed. "They'll hire anyone for the chorus these days."

"Don't I know it," she grumbled, shaking her head. "I wonder if he is..."

He smiled. "Why are you so interested in him?"

"No reason," she said guardedly. "He's just new to me, that's all. I've never seen him before."

She let out a sigh, then turned to him and saw his knowing glance. "I've got to go," she then said, feeling her face start to flush, turning and starting to walk back down to her lair.

_Hell is, as my father once said, not a place, it's a state of mind and body; it is an obsession with a name, a face..._

_I have a new obsession - or, at least, I think I do._

_His name is Cameron Luc, and he's a chorister here at the Opera. He's been here since the Opera rejuvenated, meaning that he's been here for around four years._

_I'm shocked that I've never seen him before today. Of course, I was shocked to see him at all... he was so incredibly handsome that it was unbelievable! If only I weren't something of a recluse, then I possibly would make my presence known to him. Possibly._

_But it won't happen. Never, not in my wildest dreams. I'm about the most monstrous thing that's ever walked this earth, and he is undoubtedly the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on._

_But I can still dream. I can still worship him in silence, even if I can never actually be in his presence. I can still admire him from afar._


	19. Chapter 18: Accidental Angel

_Obsession. What hell it is!_

_However, it isn't entirely bad, for now I constantly have inspiration for creative things. Music, pictures, and architectural designs flow from my fingers daily._

_All because of Cameron._

"What are you drawing _now?_" sighed François rather impatiently as Christine sat at the organ bench, drawing another yet another picture of Cameron. She'd been drawing ever since his arrival

"Nothing," she muttered, adding the finishing touches to Cameron's eyes and putting the picture up in a safe place to complete later.

She then turned to him and started to give the attention that she believed he wanted. "So, what has been going on up there lately?" she asked, glancing upwards to signify what she meant by _up there_.

He shrugged. "Not much. Why don't you come look for yourself?" he added, putting emphasis on the fact that she hadn't been seen much around the upper levels of the Opera as of late.

"I'm busy," she replied, shrugging in a noncommittal gesture and turning back to the organ bench, starting to write some more of a new piece of music that she'd come up with.

"You're busy quite often lately," he noted. "Why?"

"Quit asking questions," she said with rather stunning authority, glaring at him. She didn't want him asking so many questions when all the answers were related to Cameron. "It gets quite annoying, you poking and prodding all the time."

He raised his eyebrows. "My apologies," he said, surprised. "May I ask why you're acting so defensive all of a sudden? Is it the morphine?"

"No," she sighed, turning back to her composition, "I quit."

_All because of Cameron_, she added in thought.

"That's good," he said, nodding and smiling. He felt proud of her for this accomplishment. "That's better for you, anyway."

She nodded shortly and then sat there for a moment.

Then, suddenly, she was overcome with the urge to go up above and see Cameron, so she rose and grabbed her cloak, putting it over her shoulders. "I'm going out," she informed him.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, standing up and stretching. "I was wondering if you'd leave sometime."

"Hmm," she murmured distractedly, stepping onto the gondola and grabbing the paddle, starting to row away.

"I'll be back," she called out to François, who stood on the shore of the lake, a surprised expression on his face, as he hadn't expected her to leave him like she was.

She soon was back at the tiny window by the stage where she'd first met Cameron a mere two weeks ago. She looked around the stage for him, and suddenly, there he was.

He was standing in the middle of the stage, his hands on his hips and his blonde hair glistening in the light, smiling that lovable smile that she adored. "Well, are we going to rehearse this bloody notorious dance or not?" he called out to his fellow chorus members, allowing her to hear him speak for the first time.

His voice! She loved it. Letting out a small, dreamy sigh, she rested her chin on her hands, wishing that he would never stop speaking.

_Speak again_, she thought rather wistfully. _Speak again, Cameron, for me..._

He looked around in surprise. "Who said that?" he asked. "Someone told me to speak again."

She jolted. Had she said that aloud? Apparently. She slunk into the shadows so that she wouldn't be seen.

"Well, whoever it was," one of the male choristers said with a laugh, "you granted their wish!"

He laughed good-naturedly. "I did, didn't I? Now come, my friends - let's rehearse!"

Then he started dancing about onstage. No one joined him, though, but she didn't think that he looked foolish because she was so infatuated with him, and just watching him move pleased her.

_He's a good dancer_, she thought, sighing again as the other male choristers finally started dancing along with Cameron. How wonderful he was...

_Who will sing for me?  
Who will be my angel?  
When will my angel come find me?_

Cameron was the one singing!

Upon this fact being revealed to her, she gasped. His voice - it was wonderful! Certainly, it needed work, but... it was beautiful!

She then thought about what the song said: _Who will be my angel?_

Well, she knew someone, even though that someone would probably never agree to it because they were a recluse.

_Who will be my angel?_

_That's what Cameron asked in song today, with his beautiful voice that needs a tiny bit of perfection._

Well, I could be his angel_, I thought to myself for a moment, but then I instantly pushed that idea out from my mind._

_The very thought is inconceivable! Impossible! I can never be with Cameron, not ever, not ever... not in any form, angel or human. He's the definition of perfection, and I... well, I don't even know what I'm the definition of. Disgusting, perhaps._

_Although I like the thought of being an angel..._

About a week later, Christine sat silently behind the wall of the chapel, not really doing anything but sitting. There was nothing better for her to do.

Then, suddenly, since it was empty in the chapel, she thought it safe enough to sing.

_Kyrie eleison...  
Christe eleison...  
Kyrie eleison...  
Christe eleison..._

She ended the song with high notes, creating an angelic sweetness of sound and causing the end to resonate through the empty chapel. Then she sat silently, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her her chin on her knees.

"Er, excuse me... um... voice?"

She peeked out the tiny window that led to the chapel and saw Cameron standing in the center of the chapel, looking about curiously. This caused her to lean back, wincing at her carelessness.

_Damn!_ she thought. She hadn't known he was there, or else she wouldn't have made any noise whatsoever.

"Voice? Oh, please do answer me!" called out Cameron pleadingly.

She let out a resigned sigh, knowing that it would be foolish, but better, if she answered him.

After making sure that her voice still had resonating power thanks to ventriloquism, she replied, "_Yes?_"

"Oh!" called out Cameron delightedly, and she noticed that he was still looking around, trying to see where her voice was coming from. "You're still here!"

"_Yes, I am_," she said. "_What is it that you wanted?_"

There was a pause for a moment. Then he asked, "Are - are you the Angel of Music?"

She drew her breath in sharply at this question. She? The Angel of Music? She couldn't be. Never.

_It might be my only chance to be with him - even if it's not the way that I want to be with him_, she thought. _To be an angel... I'm nothing near an angel, but I _could_ be. He doesn't know who I am, and he never will. I could be his angel... his Angel of Music..._

Taking a breath, she replied, "_Yes. Yes, Cameron, I am your Angel of Music_."

"How do you know my name?" he asked, although she noticed that he sounded delighted at her answer.

"_Well, I'm your Angel, Cameron_," she said, feeling somewhat surprised that he was buying this. "_I'm supposed to know your name. Now, tonight we shall have a lesson. Meet me in the dressing room with the huge mirror at seven o'clock_."

"But, Angel - I can't! The Phantom uses that mirror to come out here from where she lives!" He suddenly sounded very fearful.

She smiled to herself. "_No, she won't hurt you, Cameron_," she said. "_I'll protect you from The Phantom. That's what angels are supposed to do, after all. Meet me there at seven!_"

Then, without saying another word to him, she silently made her way back down to her lair before he could reply.

_I am an Angel. Cameron's Angel of Music._

_I didn't do it on purpose; it just happened. Tonight, in the dressing room that I use to access the outside world, we will have our first lesson._

_My voice is my one beauty, my one power, my only hope. It's the only hope I have of ever being relatively close to him._

_I can't have him, I know, but I can have his voice..._


	20. Chapter 19: No More Pablo

_What is happening simply astonishes me beyond all belief! Here, in the year 1923, people still believe in the Angel of Music! Amazing!_

_It's very strange. I mean, my father and I are the only Angels of Music - and we're not really the Angel of Music. And the other people who think we are the Angel of Music are the people that we are in love with._

_I think I understand what that means - history is repeating itself. That's a rather dangerous thing, but I won't think about it. All it will do is make me fear for the future, and I do not need that. I must focus on tutoring my student. He must become the lead tenor at the Opera!_

Christine stood silently behind the mirror in the dressing room that she often went through three months after she had started tutoring Cameron, waiting for him to show up.

She checked her pocketwatch impatiently. He was late! He'd promised never to be late to lessons, and yet here he was, not present even after being five minutes tardy.

As she was just about to start to get very angry with him, he rushed in, quietly closing the door behind him. Then he knelt in front of the mirror reverently, knowing that he would hear his Angel of Music's beautiful voice in a moment.

She smiled briefly as she observed his solemn, handsome features, then remembered that he was tardy and that she was cross with him. Straightening herself, she prepared her voice for ventriloquism.

"_You are late, Cameron!_" she boomed in a scolding, displeased tone.

He raised his head, looking intensely terrified. "I'm sorry, Angel," he whispered. "I was detained... all the male choristers had to rehearse more before we were released! It wasn't my fault, I swear... I tried to leave, truly I did, but _Monsieur_ Latienne caught me before I had the chance to escape!"

Upon hearing this, she sighed and shook her head, for what Cameron was saying was most likely true. Latienne, the male chorus's instructor, never thought that his current chorus was any good - which, in truth, most of them weren't. Cameron was one of only five male choristers who had any talent. However, Latienne only saw the faults in his students and therefore punished the entire chorus by making them rehearse a lot, even after performances, because of the incompetent majority. It wasn't his fault.

"_Yes, all right, Cameron_," she replied. "_You're excused - this time. Next time, however, I expect you to do whatever you must to make it here on time - even if that means skipping out on rehearsal! I won't have you dancing around like a buffoon with _Monsieur_ Latienne's choreography much longer, anyway. Am I perfectly clear?_"

He nodded. "Yes, Angel. It won't happen again."

"_Good._" She paused. "_Have you been practicing your scales as I told you to?_"

"Of course I have, Angel."

"Then I'd like to hear you sing the D Major scale, three octave," she commanded. "Now."

So he obediently sang the required scale. When he was finished, he waited quietly for criticism.

However, instead of criticizing him, she smiled. He was wonderful.

"_Cameron_," she informed him, "_you and I have only had lessons for three months, but you're already the best singer here. You could probably triumph on the stage of the Opera tomorrow night, if you wished... and even if you wouldn't do it tomorrow night, you'll do it someday. I promise you that._"

His eyes widened. "Oh, no, Angel!" he gasped. "I couldn't possibly. Pablo would be furious!"

"_Oh, yes_," she thought aloud rather crossly. "_Pablo Bertelli, the leading tenor. That man's voice makes my blood turn cold. This Opera would be much better off without him._" She let out a huffy sigh. _"Unfortunately, La Carlotta is his grandmother, so he has connections to remain here. Perhaps I should do something about that. Would you like that, Cameron, if I tried to get rid of Pablo? It would give you the opportunity that you so deserve._"

"How, Angel?" he asked doubtfully, frowning. "He's almost impossible to get rid of."

_Perhaps_, she thought to herself, a slow smile coming to her face as an idea suddenly popped into her head. _Or perhaps not..._

"_I'm afraid that we'll have to stop our lesson early tonight, Cameron_," she then said suddenly. "_Go home and get a good night's rest, and I'll see you tomorrow night._"

Then, without another word and without waiting for him to protest, she turned and walked back down to her lair.

--

The next afternoon, Christine lurked around the shadows, trying her best to stay out of François's line of vision so that he wouldn't catch sight of her. Then she peered out from the flies onto the stage, where Pablo Bertelli, the leading tenor, was rehearsing - very badly, it should be noted. It was time to try to get rid of him.

She crept over to where the sceneries were tied up and very carefully untied a rope to one of the sceneries. She then released the rope, watching with interest as it fell down. Just as she had expected it to, the scenery dropped onto the stage directly where Pablo stood and collapsed on top of him.

Everyone on stage went into a frenzy. Pablo pounded his fists on the floor and screamed like a child having a temper tantrum, as he was too fat, lazy, and spoiled to try and get up himself without someone else's help. The stage hands pointed and laughed. The choristers burst into song with the theme song they'd made up for Christine - or, rather, not for Christine, but about her.

_She's here, The Phantom of the Opera!  
She's with us, it's the ghost!  
_

_Beware The Phantom of the Opera!  
She's with us, it's the ghost!_

"Shut up, all of you!" shouted Berrain. Then he looked up to the flies, where Christine stood in the shadows, laughing as quietly as humanly possible. "_Jannes!_ What the devil going on up there?"

Upon hearing his name being called, François immediately rushed over, glaring at the laughing Christine with a look that said, "You'll pay for this!" as he caught sight of her.

Then he pulled on the rope for the scenery, lifting it back up off the stage. He shouted over the flies, "It wasn't me, _Monsieur_ Berrain, I swear! It must have been The Phantom!"

"Give them this," she whispered to him, handing him an envelope sealed with red wax in a skull shape.

He took it from her and held the note over the flies. "Look what I found!" he called out. "A note! It's addressed to the entire Opera staff."

"Well, throw it down here, man!" Berrain ordered, and then François tossed it down onto the stage where Berrain was now standing.

Berrain caught it and opened it. Then he read aloud, "_Dear Opera Staff, it has come to my attention that some changes must be made to the cast. Therefore, if Pablo Bertelli does not resign within 24 hours, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. Your obedient servant, O.G._"

"I am 'ot queeting!" shouted Pablo, rising from the floor with as much dignity as possible. "I 'ill be back 'omorrow!"

Then, without another word, he turned and stormed off of the stage, shouting something that no one could understand.

Glaring at Pablo as he walked away, Christine stormed away from the flies and walked back down to her lair.

"That's not the last time that shall happen!" she shouted, not caring who saw or heard her. "A disaster beyond your imagination _will_ occur, Pablo Bertelli - I swear it!"


	21. Chapter 20: Let the Catfight Begin

About a week later, Christine sat in her lair, writing some new music. Then she heard a noise and looked up.

François was entering through the side entrance, some items that she had asked him to purchase for her tucked under his arm.

"Here you go, Christine," he said, placing the things on the organ. "There's those items you asked me to buy. Odd things you wanted, really... male garments?"

She shrugged. "Think nothing of it, François. I want you to forget that you saw those clothes... forget that I ever asked you to buy them. You understand?"

"All right," he said with a shrug, looking confused for a moment before he sat next to her on the piano bench and looked down at what she was writing. "A love song? And what do you know about love, exactly?"

"Not a lot," she sighed, placing down her pen and rubbing her eyes. "Come on - let's go up, shall we?"

Upon her saying this, they both rose, and she placed her cloak over her shoulders. Then she stepped onto the gondola and grabbed her rowing rod. It was then that she saw that he was just standing there, looking at her.

"Well, come on, François," she said. "I'm not leaving you behind this time."

He smiled at this and stepped onto the gondola. Then she rowed away.

When they reached the upper levels of the Opera, he went over to the flies to see if his fellow scene-shifters needed any help while she walked up to Box Five so that she could get a better view of the stage - which, of course, also meant that she would get a better view of Cameron. Then she peered slightly over the grand tier to observe the rehearsal that was going on.

There was Cameron, she saw after a moment, standing in the center of the stage as always. The majority of the female choristers were standing nearby, gathered together in a little cluster. They were pointing at Cameron, whispering and giggling to each other while also making googly eyes at him. By straining her ears with some difficulty, she could hear what they were saying.

"Isn't he handsome?" cooed one of the chorus girls, giggling. "Oh, _Cameron!_"

"I wish he looked at girls," sighed another. "All he cares about is his career, it seems! Did you hear about how he's always here late, singing? Committed to work, but not to females!"

Christine felt pleased upon hearing this bit of news. Despite the fact that she'd told him not to be distracted by young women like the ones who were currently fawning over him, she had been sure that Cameron wouldn't listen to her and would instead pursue whoever he liked. She was glad that he didn't, as it would have mad her both angry and jealous.

"Well," said another determinedly, "I'm going to ask him to dinner - now."

Then, without another word, she walked away from the chorus girls and over to Cameron as Christine observed silently from above.

"Oh, hello, Emilie!" Cameron greeted the girl, his face lighting up as he smiled. "How are you today?"

"I'm lovely, Cameron," the girl replied. "I was wondering - would you like to come to dinner with me after rehearsal tonight? Not much like a date, just a meal, you know. If you're not too busy..."

_Don't do it, Cameron_, Christine thought as she watched the two, her eyes narrowing. _You know better... you know my rules. You'd best listen to them if you want to keep me happy!_

Cameron considered for a moment. He knew that that would be openly defying his Angel of Music's orders to never miss a lesson and also to never distract himself from her plans for his career at the Opera by spending time with women. However, he wanted very badly to have dinner with this girl - he liked her.

After deciding that getting the opportunity to spend time with the young woman before him was worth risking angering his voice instructor for, he smiled and nodded. "Certainly. I would love to."

Not wanting to hear any more, Christine stormed out of Box Five and back to her lair, feeling indescribable anger rising up in her.

_It seems I have some competition for Cameron! Emilie Chastain - how I hate her!_

_Oh, she's beautiful, all right - as beautiful as they come. Long blonde hair, grey eyes, incredibly slender figure. Disgustingly beautiful! It almost appalls me to look at her._

_She has talent, though; I'll give her credit for that. She could probably take over her sister Marie's role as prima donna, or lead soprano, of the Opera if she so desired, but right now she seems perfectly content with being the lead chorus girl._

_One thing that I also hate about the fact that she's the lead - now, at least? _I_ engineered her promotion to lead chorus girl! I knew she had talent and got the managers to notice her, and this is how she repays me, this is how she thanks me - by stealing Cameron! That makes me so angry!_

_It is said that there are three things needed to win someone over - beauty, wit, and charm. Well, I certainly won't win Cameron over with the 'beauty' factor - I'm hideous! Emilie, however, will!_

_But one thing is that Emilie's wit and charm cannot possibly match mine. Yes, that is what I will win Cameron over with - my wit and my charm... and also my voice. It's my only hope now. I thought I could just be his voice instructor and remain relatively indifferent to him, but I can't - I can't let him get away from me!_

_My father once said that none of us can choose where we will love._

_Perhaps it's time for me to stop fighting that, as it seems that he was right - in my case, anyway. I can argue about how untrue that statement can be all day long, but I know now that if it's going to be true for anyone, it's going to be true for me... and for Cameron, if I can help it._


	22. Chapter 21: The Meeting

**A/N #1: I'm sorry about the song Cameron sings... I made it up as I wrote. I know it's bad.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom song **_**The Mirror (Angel of Music Reprise)**_**. I merely used it for here and changed a few lyrics to help it make more sense.**

A month later, Christine stood in Box Five, observing rehearsal for a new production of _Mon Ange_, an opera that someone had found in the gutters of the street not long before. Unfortunately, Pablo was ruining the part of Henri, the male leading role.

"This won't stand any more. I'm getting rid of him - now," she murmured to herself determinedly, walking over to the flies. Then she untied the rope to a scenery piece, just like she had not long before and let it go so that it would fall on Pablo again.

Panic ensued once more. She softly sang along with her theme song as the choristers sang it.

_She's here, The Phantom of the Opera!  
She's with us, it's the ghost!_

_Beware The Phantom of the Opera!  
She's with us, it's the ghost!_

When a once-again-angry-at-Christine François had lifted up the scenery so that it was no longer on top of Pablo, Berrain said to the infuriated Pablo, "These things, _Monsieur_ Bertelli, do happen."

"Yes," shouted Pablo, "for the past five months, these things do 'appen! Well, no 'more! I am 'eaving!"

Then he stormed off the stage once again. This time, though, it seemed that he wouldn't come back the next day.

"Oh, dear," sighed Renoir, the conductor. "We've nobody else to sing Henri's part! We shall have to cancel the performance!"

At this, Berrain and Erisma looked at each other and groaned. Cancelling a performance meant refunds, and refunds meant losing money. They hated that.

Cameron came forward timidly. "If you don't mind, _Monsieur_ Renoir, I - I could sing Henri's part. I've been taking lessons from a great teacher... I've learned a lot from her."

Christine smiled upon hearing this. She, a great teacher? How flattering he was!

"What is their name?" demanded Renoir Berrain, and Erisma in unison.

"Well, I - don't know her name, _monsieurs_," Cameron said nervously. "But - oh, please, let me try! I'll do my best, truly..."

Berrain, Erisma and Renoir looked at each other for a moment before shrugging rather hopelessly.

"Well, we don't have much choice," sighed Renoir, turning back to Cameron. "All right, _Monsieur_ Luc, this is your one chance to prove yourself to us. Come forward and show us what you're capable of. I'd like you to sing Henri's aria from Act Three."

Christine leaned over the railing of the flies, looking down at the stage intently. Cameron was about to have his chance to perform as the lead tenor. She hoped that he didn't become so undone from fear that he messed it up, but she didn't think that he would.

"I suppose we'll have to make do with one or two refunds tonight... but at least it won't be all of them," Erisma murmured as he leaned close to Berrain, who nodded in agreement.

_Refunds?_ Christine felt appalled. How dare they think that operagoers would demand refunds because her student was experienced at being the lead! This made her hope that he didn't act afraid even more.

Cameron came forward, looking terrified. As the accompaniment began to play, he took a deep breath, and then he began to sing.

_My angel sings for me in the night...  
My angel and guide...  
When is my angel coming for me?__  
I've never seen my angel...  
Please let me see my angel..._

Three hours later, he was singing that same song on stage. Christine hid in Box Five, smiling with pride. He was a wonderful singer and student. She loved him so much.

She swept her gaze across the entire auditorium, seeing the looks of awe and enrapturement on the faces of all of the operagoers. This caused her to smile. The managers wouldn't have to worry about refunds - not with Cameron performing.

_Let me see my angel...__  
I know it's much to ask...  
__But please...  
Let me see...  
My...  
Angel!_

The song was finished. The audience rose for a standing ovation, applauding thunderously. Cheering came from all corners of the auditorium. A full smile on her face, Christine walked out of Box Five stealthily and made her way to the room where she and Cameron had lessons.

A few minutes later, Cameron pushed through the crowd and closed the door behind him. Then he walked over to the mirror, his face flushed with excitement and exertion.

He was just about to kneel in front of the mirror, and Christine was just about to praise him, when Emilie walked in.

"You were exquisite, Cameron!" she exclaimed delightedly. "Now you and I must go celebrate with dinner. Come, come!" She grabbed his wrist.

Cameron gasped. "No, Emile!" he protested, pulling his wrist out of her grip. "I must rehearse before going home... or going to dinner. I'm sorry, but if you could wait for a little bit, I'll be happy to join you."

"Oh, Cameron, you rehearse too much!" said Emile, shaking her head and obviously not listening. "I'll return in two minutes."

Then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

"Emilie, wait!" he exclaimed, looking helpless, but it was no use.

Angered, Christine quickly walked away from the mirror to to the front of the room and grabbed the key. She stuck the key in the hole and locked the door, feeling just slightly bad for what she was doing. Then she quickly walked back to behind the mirror.

Cameron was about to walk out of the door. He wasn't leaving - she wouldn't let him get away from her, especially not to spend time with Emilie!

She sang angrily:

_Insolent girl of foolish actions,  
Basking in your glory..._

_Ignorant one!__  
That bold young lady,  
Sharing in my triumph!_

Cameron looked terrified at his Angel of Music's anger. He replied:

_Angel, I hear you  
Speak, I listen,  
Stay by my side,  
Guide me!_

_Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me  
Enter at last, Angel..._

She sang softly:

_Flattering boy, you shall know me...  
See why in shadow I hide..._

_Look at your face in the mirror...  
I am there inside!_

Cameron stared at the mirror, overjoyed. There she was - his Angel of Music! She was there, standing behind the mirror!

_Angel of Music, guide and guardian,  
Grant to me your glory!_

_Angel of Music, hide no longer,  
Come to me, strange angel..._

As he started walking towards the mirror, she slowly began to open it so that he wouldn't notice her deception. Of course, he was in a trace, so it hardly mattered. She sang:

_I am your Angel of Music...  
Come to me, Angel of Music..._

_I am your Angel of Music...  
Come to me, Angel of Music..._

She extended her hand through the mirror to him and held her breath, hoping, even praying, that somehow this could work.

With just a moment's hesitation, he took it.


	23. Chapter 22: The First Night

Christine held onto Cameron's hand while she stood behind the mirror and he stood in front of it, staring at him in amazement for a moment. She could hardly believe it. He was here! He was here, and now she'd decided that she was going to take him down to the lair with her.

Still holding onto his hand, she began to lead him down the passageway silently. Every so often, she'd look back at him, just for the reassurance that he was really there. She could hardly believe that this was actually happening, yet it was.

When they'd gotten to the gondola, something changed in him - it looked as though he'd just snapped out of the trance that he'd been in. But she didn't realize that until he recognized her as the infamous Phantom of the Opera and opened his mouth, starting to scream.

"_Shhh!_" she hissed, raising a hand up to his mouth but not touching him. "Keep quiet, Cameron! Do you want them to hear you? You're not in any danger; calm down! It is I, your Angel of Music!"

He quit screaming. Then he stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. His Angel of Music and The Phantom of the Opera were one in the same! But... how could that be? His Angel wasn't bad like The Phantom was - was she?

When he didn't make another sound, she sighed with relief. "Good. Now come on - come with me."

Then she stepped onto the gondola and, still holding onto his hand, helped him onto the gondola. Then she grabbed the rowing rod and started to row away as he sat down.

She rowed in silence for a short time until they finally came near the gate of the lair. It was then that he spoke to her, in person, for the first time.

"Do you have a name, Angel - a name besides _Angel_, that is?"

"My name is Christine," she replied with a slight smile, glancing down at him. "And I'm not an angel. I'm just a teenage girl... a very desperate teenage girl who's finally bold enough to be committing the ultimate theft."

He raised his eyebrows, obviously confused. "The ultimate theft? What do you mean?"

Sighing sadly and suddenly feeling somewhat foolish for doing what she'd done, she said with obvious remorse, "Oh, God, what made me do this? I can't believe I'm doing this. Cameron... I'm kidnapping you."

He shook his head in protest, looking surprised to hear her say this. "No, you're not! I'm coming of my own free will!"

She scoffed a little. "Well, try telling that to François and see if he believes you."

"You know Jannes?" he asked.

"Yes, and unfortunately for me, he knows that I've been watching you. He'll probably instantly accuse me of kidnapping you once you're found missing, even if you _are_ with me of your own free will." She stopped rowing and rested her head on her rowing arm, sighing before saying decidedly, "Maybe I'd better just take you back right now."

"Oh, no, Angel!" he exclaimed. "Please let me come with you!"

She looked down at him uncertainly for a moment, feeling her heart warm a little when he saw how pleading the expression on his face was. An angel wanted to spend time with a monster, it seemed.

"Oh, all right," she sighed indulgently after a moment, smiling down at him. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for you to be here just once."

Then she continued rowing, looking ahead, until the gate opened and they entered the lair.

He looked around as she rowed the gondola onto the shore of the lake and stepped onto it, fascinated. "This place is amazing, Ang - I mean, Christine."

Stepping out of the gondola and stood on the shore of the lake, he continued looking around as he walked over to where she was standing and inquired, "Did you build this by yourself?"

She laughed a little. "Oh, no! No... it was already built when I came here."

Then she made a graceful hand motion that her father had used to use many years ago in order to beckon him to her. He obediently came forward so that he was a little closer to her, as though he was powerless to her hand, and she took his hand.

"Come," she said softly, starting to lead him. "Let me show you my home."

The rest of the night, as she led him around the lair, he was quiet, acting as though he were spellbound.

Then, very late at night, they finally came to the room that she had prepared for him in case she ever decided to bring him down to the lair to stay for the night. The sight of the bed caused him to yawn and stretch.

"I'm sorry for yawning around you, Angel - Christine," he said apologetically, looking rather tired all of a sudden. "You're not boring me, really. I just feel rather worn out."

"I"m sure you do," she replied reassuringly. "You've had a very long day, especially with your premiere this evening. I told you that you wouldn't be looking like a fool, dancing about onstage, for much longer, didn't I?"

"Yes," he replied with a somewhat sleepy smile as he walked over to the bed and lay on it, sighing and closing his eyes. "I wasn't sure if I should believe you or not, but you were right... I'll never doubt anything you say again."

For a moment more, she stood at the doorway, looking at him and waiting for him to say more, but then she saw that he was breathing the deep, even breaths of sleep. He'd given in to his tiredness.

"Poor boy," she murmured as she walked over to him and covered him up with the blanket. "He's exhausted."

She looked down at him for a moment, and then she walked to the door, placing her hand on the doorknob as she stood in the doorway, still looking back at him. Then she whispered as softly as possible so that he wouldn't hear, "Good night, Cameron. I... love you."

Sighing, she closed the door and then walked over to her piano to began to compose, inspired by Cameron's presence to write new music.


	24. Chapter 23: Knowledge Is Power

Christine woke up early the next morning and realized that she'd fallen asleep at the piano while composing. She yawned, stretched, and glanced at her pocketwatch, seeing that it was shortly after seven o'clock. Soon everyone would be arriving at the Opera, if they weren't there already, and she'd have to go answer to François for Cameron's disappearance, which would be discovered very quickly.

Sighing and rubbing her face somewhat tiredly, she rose from the piano bench and walked over to the closed door of Cameron's room. Then she quietly opened the door to check if he was still there.

There he was, breathing the deep, even breaths of sleep, causing her to smile to herself. He looked so peaceful when he was sleeping.

After looking at him for another moment, she shut the door again as quietly as possible.

She walked over to where her cloak was hanging, grabbed her cloak, and put it on, stepping onto the gondola. Then she grabbed the nearby rowing rod and started rowing away. She had to come back quickly before Cameron woke up and realized he was alone, which she was sure would terrify him. With this thought, she rowed a little quicker.

When she reached the upper levels of the Opera, she made her way up to where the flies were, and where she expected François to be waiting for her, tapping one foot impatiently and looking cross. It therefore didn't surprise her when that was exactly what she found.

_"Cameron Luc!" exclaimed François when I approached him early this morning, using that ominous and rather demanding tone that somehow has the power to make me nervous. "Cameron Luc, Christine!"_

_Damn! How is it that he always finds things out so quickly?_

_For a moment, I bit my lip until I tasted blood, trying to figure out how to go about this. I couldn't play that much of a fool; he would never buy it. It seemed that I would have to act like Cameron didn't really matter to me._

_I shrugged. "What about him?"_

_"You kidnapped him - _you kidnapped him!_" he cried out rather accusingly. "Didn't you? How could you, Christine?"_

_I tossed my head haughtily. "I'll have you know that he snapped out of his trance almost immediately and then came with me of his own free will!"_

_There was a moment of silence between us, and then I realized that I'd just given myself away, which didn't surprise me that much, although it rather irritated me. I can never keep things a secret from François for long. "Oh."_

_He looked slightly amused by my carelessness momentarily, then grew serious again._

_"Let him go, Christine," he said quietly. "He's a shallow, frivolous young man who's entirely unworthy of someone as intelligent and worldly as you are. You two have nothing in common!"_

_"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about!" I replied, turning away from him and feeling my face flush slightly because I knew exactly what he was talking about._

_He raised his eyebrows. "Don't think that I don't see what's going on here, Christine. I'm not as clueless as you'd like to think. So let him go... let him be with the girl that he's in love with."_

_"And who, François, do you think he might be in love with?" I demanded, although I was fully aware of what his answer would be._

_"Why, Emilie Chastain, of course. Don't you see the way he looks at her? It's obvious that he likes her, at the very least."_

_Upon hearing the name that I'd come to despise, I spun around and grabbed his arm so tightly that I saw him wince._

_"That is _not_ true!" I snapped, aware that I was lying mostly to make myself feel better. "Who dares to say such cruel things about him? I'd like to know!"_

_Sighing, he pulled my hand off of his arm with some difficulty. "Why are you keeping him with you, anyway?" he asked._

_I folded my arms beneath my cloak and glared at him. "You may not like hearing this, but I am allowed to have visitors other than _you_, François," I said coldly. "Although I find it quite touching that you think yourself my only company, my only friend."_

_He sighed at this as I checked my pocketwatch before continuing, "Now, if you'll excuse me, my guest should be waking at any moment, and if he doesn't find me there, he's sure to die of fright."_

_Then, without another word, I turned and made my way down back home._

_Why is it that Francois thinks that I'm making a mistake by being in love with Cameron and having him down in my home with me? I don't make mistakes! I'm a genius! Geniuses don't make mistakes! Ha - genius's mistake... falling in love! Hysterically funny!_

_Wait a moment._

Genius's Mistake?

_That sounds like a rather good name for an opera, I think..._


	25. Chapter 24: Wake Up Call

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom_ songs **_**The Music of the Night**_** or **_**The Point of No Return**_**. I also don't own the shouting part of **_**I Remember/ Stranger Than You Dreamt It**_**, which I had to revise for it to make sense. (That should tell you what happens here.)**

**A/N #1: Okay, since both Cameron and Christine sing here, and I don't want to confuse you, here's how we'll do it - Christine's singing is just italics, Cameron's singing is just bold, and when they sing together, it's bold and italics.**

The next morning, when Cameron woke up, he heard the piano being played. He climbed out of bed and walked out of his bedroom to see Christine sat at the piano, playing and singing a song that he'd never heard before.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation  
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination  
Silently the senses abandon their defenses..._

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor  
Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender__  
_

_Turn your face away  
From the garish light of day  
Turn your thoughts away  
From cold, unfeeling light...  
And listen to the music of the night..._

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams  
Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before  
Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar...  
And you'll live as you've never lived before..._

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you  
Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you  
Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind  
In this darkness that you know you cannot fight...  
The darkness of the music of the night..._

_Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world  
Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before  
Let your soul take you where you long to be...  
Only then can you belong to me..._

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication  
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation  
Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in  
To the power of the music that I write...  
The power of the music of the night..._

_You alone can make my song take flight..  
.__Help me make the music of the...  
Night..._

When she was finished, he started applauding, which caused her to jolt in surprise and turn to face him while seating, as she hadn't known that he'd been there because she had been so absorbed in the music.

"That was lovely," he breathed. "You're a wonderful singer. Did you write that?"

She shook her head and sighed. "No... a very great man I knew once wrote it."

A look of sadness passed across her face briefly, and then she glanced up at him. "Would you like to sing something with me?" she asked. "We could sing a strange duet, you and I..."

He raised his eyebrows, slightly confused at her strange words, but then he nodded and shrugged. "Sure. What shall we sing?"

"Well," she said, pulling out the sheet music that she'd made for _The Point of No Return_, "we could sing... this. The great man I knew wrote this as well."

She handed the sheet music to him. "Would you like to sing that?"

He scanned the music over, hummed a few notes, and then shrugged, looking back up at her. "This is fine. I'm ready when you are."

She nodded, then played the piano. He started to sing.

**You have come here  
In pursuit of your deepest urge  
In pursuit of that wish, which till now,  
****Has been silent...  
Silent...**

**I have brought you  
That our passions may fuse and merge  
In your mind, you've already succumbed to me  
Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me...**

**Now you are here with me...  
No second thoughts...  
You've decided...  
Decided...**

**Past the point of no return...  
No backward glances...  
Our games of make believe  
Are at an end...**

**Past all thought of if or when...  
No use resisting...  
Abandon thought and let the dream descend...**

**What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us?**

**Past the point of no return...  
The final threshold...  
What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn  
Beyond the point of no return?**

_You have brought me  
To that moment when words run dry...  
To that moment when speech disappears into silence...  
Silence..._

_I have come here  
Hardly knowing the reason why  
In my mind, I've already imagined  
Our bodies entwining defenseless and silent..._

_Now I am here with you...  
__No second thoughts...  
I've decided...  
Decided..._

_Past the point of no return...  
No going back now...  
Our passion play  
Has now, at last, begun..._

_Past all thought of right or wrong...  
One final question -  
How long should we two wait  
Before we're one?_

_When will the blood begin to race?  
The sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last,  
Consume us?_

_**Past the point of no return...  
The final threshold...  
The bridge is crossed,  
So stand and watch it burn...**_

_**We've passed the point of no return...**_

As they held out the last note, something in Cameron inclined him to move closer to Christine, so he did. Then he impulsively reached out and placed a hand on the cheek that was unmasked.

"No, don't give in!" a voice cried out inside her head, and she knew that the voice represented the logical part of her, but she chose not to listen to it and instead closed her eyes and surrendered.

He placed a hand on her mask.

"_No!_" the voice screamed hysterically. "He'll be the source of your ruin!"

But she didn't believe the voice. Instead, the part that wanted her to accept Cameron argued against the voice, _It's all right... maybe he'll accept me..._

When she didn't protest, he pulled the mask off and saw her deformity for the first time.

Once the mask was gone, she heard a gasp of horror and shock come from him.

Angry with herself for letting him do this to her but more so with him for being horrified, she opened her eyes, stood up, and shoved him down on the floor with surprising strength.

"Damn you!" she shouted, covering her deformity with one of her hands. "Why in the world did you do that? You evil demon!"

She yanked down the cover of one of the mirrors with her other hand, removing the hand that was on her face for a moment so that he could once again see the horror that he had revealed. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

Terrified, he stared up at her, not daring to move.

"Curse you!" she continued, growing angrier by the second. "You little lying deceiver! You evil viper! Now you cannot _ever_ be free!"

His eyes widened in shock and he let out a small gasp, feeling as though he was receiving the worst punishment of his life.

"Damn you!" she cried out, suddenly growing weaker as she sank to the floor a few feet away from him. "Curse you..."

Then there was silence. She sat on the floor, tears in her eyes, one of her hands still covering the bad half of her face. He sat not too far away from her, his facial expression a mixture of terror and pity as tears filled his eyes, too.

When she felt that she'd calmed down enough to be frighten him any more she finally glanced at him with a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I have a terrible temper. My father" - she fought back tears at the memory of Erik - "had one, too. I daresay that's where I get mine from. I - I didn't mean to get so angry with you."

He didn't reply, instead beginning to cry tears began to stream down his face. He'd hurt his Angel, therefore committing the worst crime that he could think of, but he couldn't find the words to apologize. So instead he held her mask out to her.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking it from him. Then she turned away and put it back in place.

She rose, taking a deep breath and trying to regain her self-composure, and when she was calmer, she looked down at him, seeing that he was still sitting on the floor.

"Come, we must return," she said to him, extending her hand. "Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you."

He hesitantly took her hand, and she helped him up, leading him over to the gondola. Then, when he was on, she grabbed her cloak and put it on, getting onto the gondola herself, rowing rod in hand, and rowing away.

When they'd returned to the mirror, she opened it, motioning for him to go. He didn't move.

"Go," she commanded, her voice hoarse with emotion. "_Now._"

Not daring to anger her again and also unable to resist that commanding tone in her voice, he moved away from her, slowly backing away. Then he walked out the door and left, closing it behind him.

She stood there for a moment, looking at the closed door that he had just left out of, then closed the mirror and walked back down to her lair, sobbing the entire way down.

_Why? Why did I let Cameron remove my mask? Why didn't I learn from my father's mistakes, and not become Cameron's Angel of Music in the first place? My God, why didn't I just not pay attention to Cameron? Why didn't I shrug him off, say, "Oh, well, he's just another chorister!"?_

_Well, whatever the reason was, I won't go back to him - ever again._

I won't!

_I shall return to what I know and love best - my music, my solitude, and my morphine. Those will solve everything... I'll forget about Cameron and everything involving him soon enough._

_Goodbye, Cameron Luc! Hello, morphine!_

**A/N #2: And back to morphine she goes!**


	26. Chapter 25: Big Softy

_Three weeks!_

_It's been three weeks since I've seen or contacted Cameron... and I've never been more miserable in my entire life! (Picture me sobbing endlessly as I write this line.)_

_The morphine, though... oh, yes, the morphine! The morphine is my friend. It helps me forget why I cry._

_If I believed in God, I would thank Him and curse Him at the same time. I would thank Him for having some person think of morphine, because it makes me happy and relatively sane, and I would curse Him for making me love Cameron, because I lose my mind whenever I think of him._

_But I don't believe in God._

_I do, however, and unfortunately, believe in love, and that none of us can choose where we will love._

_I'd like to not believe in that... but it isn't happening, not even with the morphine. The morphine never lets me forget that one thing that I so strongly believe in..._

Cameron was rehearsing on stage one day when he saw François up in the flies and knew that he had to talk to him right away. He wanted, and needed, to talk to him about Christine. He needed to see his Angel of Music again; he felt rather lost and alone without her.

"Excuse me," he said hurriedly, and then he walked off of the stage and went up to where François was standing, observing the rehearsal that was going on below him.

"Jannes?" he inquired rather tentatively as he approached François.

François turned to him. "Ah, _Monsieur_ Luc," he said, nodding. "It is good to see that you have returned safely from her lair."

Cameron looked worried. "Yes, I have but... well, Jannes, that's what I was going to talk to you about. Have you seen her lately?"

François nodded silently.

"How is she? Is she doing all right?"

"No, she's not. She's stressed... and perhaps a little sad," François sighed, then looked over at the young man before him. "And, from what she's told me about it, which isn't a lot, it's your fault."

Cameron bowed his head in shame. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I hurt her... I feel bad. As a matter of fact, I feel terrible."

François laughed a little, although Cameron could tell that there was a sort of sadness and pity in his eyes. "Well, you shouldn't feel that bad for hurting her. She's normally not in very high spirits as it is, if you understand what I mean."

Cameron's eyes narrowed in confusion. "No, I don't."

"You don't know - you don't know about her father? She hasn't told you?" François asked, surprised. "Her father was killed six months ago. He raised her from when she was about a month old... he was The Phantom before she was. She's very emotional about it; talking about him isn't an easy subject for her. I don't think she'll ever get over it."

"Oh, how sad." Cameron looked upset as he glanced up at François. "Jannes, I need to speak to her... please."

"I don't think that that's a very good idea, _Monsieur_ Luc." François shook his head. "She's quite angry with you, though she tries not to show it. I think it would be best if you just stayed away from her - for a while, at least."

Then, without another word, he turned and started to walk away.

Cameron took his arm and held in a firm, rather urgent grip. "Jannes, please... I need to talk to her... I need to tell her I'm sorry. Please tell her that I want to meet with her."

François sighed resignedly. "Very well. I shall speak to her. Where would you like to meet her - if she agrees?"

"The chapel."

François nodded, then walked off to go down to Christine's lair.

He walked inside another entrance of the lair and saw her sitting at the piano, resting her head on her arm, which was on the piano, with her eyes closed. He thought that, maybe, she was actually asleep, which he'd never seen happen before.

"Christine!" he called out to get her attention.

Upon hearing him call out her name, she opened her eyes and slowly raised her head.

"Hmm?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes and sighing rather tiredly as she rose from the piano bench. "Oh. Hello, François."

He walked up to her. "I have something to tell you," he informed her. "A certain _Monsieur_ Luc wishes to speak with you tonight."

At the mention of Cameron, she looked angry and she turned away, crossing her arms. "You may tell _Monsieur_ Luc that I am disinclined to acquiesce to his request."

When he didn't reply after a moment, she turned to him. He was staring at her, a confused expression on his face. He obviously didn't understand what it was that she had said.

"It means _No_."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "Well, while that makes you sound very intelligent, I don't think it's the best response."

"Oh, François, you're so fickle!" she snapped. "First you tell me to let him leave and to not associate with him, and when he wants to talk to me, you tell me that I should talk to him! I do wish you'd make up your mind! Would you like me to let him be or spend time with him?"

"Just go speak to him, Christine," he sighed. "He wants to meet you in the chapel."

She sighed rather irritably. "Fine."

Later that night, Cameron paced about in the chapel anxiously, waiting for Christine and continually checking his watch. François had told him that he would try to make Christine come and speak to him, and though no specific time had been given, he was sure that she would have been there by now.

He looked at his watch for the last time and saw that he had been waiting in the chapel for half an hour, causing him to let out a sigh. It didn't look like she was going to come... she must hate him very much, he decided.

Letting out a second sigh and feeling angry with himself that he had blown his chances with his personal Angel of Music, he resignedly and reluctantly turned and started to make his way out of the chapel. However, a familiar female voice coming from behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"You wished to see me, _monsieur?_"

Feeling unspeakable joy course through his veins, he whirled around. There stood his Angel, fully dressed in black, her arms folded beneath her cloak. Her grey-green eyes were bloodshot, indicating that she'd been crying. Then a lot of his joy vanished, and all he could really feel was self-loathing for what he'd put her through.

"Angel!" he exclaimed, managing to smile at her even though he felt upset about her appearance. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"That, I think, is entirely a matter of opinion," she retorted, scoffing slightly.

As he tried to think of what to say to her, he was silent for a moment, then noticed that though her arms were folded, they were being held slightly apart from each other, not touching.

Curious as to why she was folding her arms in such an unusual manner, he grabbed her arm, turned it over, and held it out, seeing the bruises that lined her veins and making him horrified. He recognized the arm of a morphine addict when he saw it - his mother had been a morphine addict herself.

"May God forgive me!" he gasped, tears of remorse filling his clear blue eyes as they looked into her grey-green ones. "Angel, I'm so sorry!"

"Never mind," she snapped as she broke their eye contact, pulling her arm out of his grasp and folding it underneath her cloak again. "And how many times must I tell you that my name is Christine?"

"I'm sorry, Christine."

"Sorry for... what?"

"Hurting you. I _did_ hurt you, didn't I? Oh, I'm a criminal who deserves to be guillotined." He bowed his head in a gesture of remorse for a moment, then looked back up at her. "Do you forgive me?"

_Don't forgive him! _a voice, the same voice that had been talking to her the day he'd removed her mask, screamed inside her head. _Don't take him back! You'll soon regret it if you do!_

However, she chose to ignore the voice and let out a resigned sigh, extending a hand out to him. "I suppose so. Will you come with me?"

"Always." He took her hand and smiled.

She smiled back at him rather tentatively, and then, without another word, she led him back down to her lair.


	27. Chapter 26: Betrayal

**Disclaimer: I don't own the **_**Phantom**_** song **_**All I Ask Of You (Reprise)**_**. (That should tell you what happens here.)**

"Cameron!" exclaimed Emilie after Cameron returned from Christine's lair a few days later and arrived at rehearsal for the new opera that the Opera Populaire was performing. "Where have you been?"

Cameron shrugged, knowing that he couldn't tell Emilie where he had been, for it would give away his secret concerning Christine. "Nowhere. I just haven't been here, that's all. I wanted to take a bit of a break for a few days."

Emilie nodded. "Well, that's nice. Did you hear? You were supposed to get the leading tenor role tonight -"

"Says who?"

"It was the orders of the Opera Ghost, but the managers wouldn't dream of letting you do it, even though you were really good when you were the lead for _Mon Ange_. Pablo's doing it instead because they don't want to lose him - he has a famous grandmother who was once the prima donna here, you know, back before the Opera had the huge fire and everything."

"Yes; La Carlotta," he replied, remembering that Christine had told him that during one of their lessons before they'd met.

"Correct. And since she's Pablo's grandmother, the managers wouldn't dare to give anyone except him the male lead. You have the silent role in the opera tonight."

He shrugged. "I don't care. Although I would like to sing... but never mind. I suppose it's no use squabbling about it, since it wouldn't do anything for me - except have me fired, probably."

"_WHAT?_" shouted Christine when François informed her that Cameron wouldn't be the lead role in the performance later on that evening. "I told them, Cameron, not Pablo! Didn't I make that clear in my note to the management?"

François sighed. "Christine - let it go. It won't hurt anyone if Pablo is the lead for just one night."

"It will hurt Cameron's career, and who knows - it may very well hurt someone's hearing, like mine!" She kicked the nearby piano stool, then placed her hands on her hips and let out a huffy sigh, causing a wisp of hair that was in front of her eyes to be blown away. "Damn it! Why do they insist on not listening to me? I know more about music than any one of the Opera's employees, and they all went to prestigious music schools while I was taught everything I know right here!"

"Oh, Christine..." was all François said.

Later that night, at the performance, Christine went up to one of her spots where she could observe the performance from above. Naturally, Pablo was killing the leading male role.

_How do the managers not see that?_ she thought to herself, letting out an irritated sigh and glancing over in the direction of the managers' box to see how Berrain and Erisma to Pablo's performance.

However, she was sidetracked when she saw that the box next to the managers' box, Box Five, was occupied! Another one of her orders had been defied!

Feeling decidedly cross, she stormed out to the high balcony, knowing that she had to do something about all the insubordination that was going on in her Opera. She hated to interrupt Pablo's butchering, of course, but she didn't believe she had a choice.

Using her ventriloquism so that her voice had resonating power all over the auditorium, she boomed, "_Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?_"

Everyone jumped and glanced up nervously at where Christine stood, the people who were performing onstage included. Fearful whispers surrounded her, and she felt proud to know that she was intimidating to the people looking at her - at least, most of them.

Berrian and Erisma squinted at The Phantom where she stood. She looked strangely familiar, they thought... she rather looked like a young masked girl that had auditioned for them several years ago.

"It's her," whispered Cameron, wondering what it was that his Angel of Music was trying to accomplish by interrupting a performance. It certainly didn't look good on her, in his opinion, though he would never say anything to her about it.

Pablo glared at him. "Shut up!" he snapped.

"_It would be wise to practice what you preach, Pablo, and shut up yourself!_" Christine called down to Pablo, feeling irritated at him for having stolen the role that should have been Cameron's and then acting rude to him.

Erisma rose from the managers' box, determined not to make the people sitting in the auditorium want to leave, which would surely make him lose money.

"Continue!" he shouted to the performers on stage. "Just ignore her; she's not going to do anything more than what she's done! She just wants to remind us that she's here!"

_He thinks I'm not going to do anything more, does he?_ Christine thought to herself, cocking her one visible eyebrow in Erisma's direction although he couldn't see it. _Well, we'll just have to see about that, I suppose._

Pablo quickly obeyed his employer's orders and began to sing his next line.

_Where is my love...?_

Upon hearing Pablo sing this line, Christine smirked, knowing what was about to come. The managers, the operagoers, and all of the Opera's employees were about to be in for a shock...

Then, suddenly, Pablo choked and bent over. Another moment passed, and he was vomiting on stage, having eaten tainted food courtesy of the Opera Ghost.

Feeling proud to know that her plan had worked, Christine threw her head back and laughed rather hysterically.

"_You should have kept silent!_" she proclaimed gleefully. Then she walked over to a door in the wall and entered it, closing it behind her and deciding that she'd had enough fun for the evening. Besides, she was feeling somewhat dizzy and a little bit out of her mind. Perhaps she'd taken a bit too much morphine earlier and it was producing the reverse of the effect it should have been producing, making her energetic instead of tired...

Little did she know, James, a male chorister too curious for his own good, made his way up to the door and entered it, following her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Berrain loudly from the managers' box as several stage hands started pulling a still-vomiting Pablo offstage, "the performance will continue in ten minutes' time, when the role of Michael will be played by Cameron Luc!"

Even though he felt bad that Pablo was getting sick and looked terrible because of it, Cameron couldn't help but smile upon hearing Berrain's words. It seemed that Christine had heard him express his wish to be the male lead earlier. She could make anything happen, it seemed.

"Meanwhile, we shall give you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera!" Berrain continued, giving Renior a meaningful look. "_Now!_"

Upon seeing the look on Berrain's face and hearing his tone, Renior nodded fervently in a gesture of consent and started conducting the orchestra to play the music from the ballet. The ballet rats ran onstage and started dancing.

Christine turned and saw James following her. He let out a gasp of terror and immediately turned around, starting to run away from her and wondering why it was that he'd ever thought to follow her.

Feeling irritated because she didn't feel like herself and also feeling angry that someone was following her, she ran after him, picking up the skirt of her dress so that she wouldn't trip on it.

A small chase ensued, and then she finally cornered him and tripped him.

"Oh!" he gasped in terror as he fell flat on his face.

Smiling rather wickedly, she pulled out her Punjab and put it around his neck, tightening it so that it would fit him. This foolish chorus boy wouldn't trouble her any longer.

"So, you thought you could escape the Opera Ghost, did you?" she said mockingly. "You thought you could follow her and get away with it? Well, James, it seems that you were _wrong!_"

With the last word, she pulled the Punjab up roughly, and she heard his neck snap.

Chuckling and feeling a little bit less like herself than before, she made it so that he would dangle over the stage if and when she decided to release the rope. When that was done, she let the rope slide in between her hands just a bit, causing him to drop into view enough that everyone would see him.

Panic ensued. Choristers screamed. Old ladies in the audience fainted. Cameron, terrified to know the crime that his Angel had just committed, ran to look for Emilie.

Smiling with satisfaction, she let go of the rope completely and let James fall onto the stage with a _thud_. The she wrapped her cloak around herself and made her way up to the roof of the Opera, where, if history was repeating itself the way she believed it was, Cameron and Emilie would soon be arrived.

Just as she hid herself behind the statue of an angel that she would never be, the two burst through the rooftop entrance. She scoffed a little. Predictable.

"My God, what happened?" gasped Emilie. "James killed... horrid! It was The Phantom!"

Cameron put his hands on her shoulders, his facial expression a mixture of terror and seriousness. "Emilie, do you believe in the Angel of Music?"

Emilie nodded. "Of course I do! Don't all musicians and artists?"

Cameron sighed with relief. "Oh, good! Then you won't think I'm mad, Emilie, when I tell you now that I've been visited by the Angel of Music."

"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaimed Emilie, smiling rather delightedly. "Tell me about him! What's he like?"

"My Angel is a female, actually," he replied. "Her name is Christine. She's fourteen years old and has black hair, grey-green eyes, and a white half-mask on the right side of her face."

Upon hearing this description, Emilie's eyes widened and her smile faded. She even paled a little bit. "You mean that -"

Cameron cut her short by nodding. "She's The Phantom of the Opera, yes."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then he let out a heavy sigh, removing his hands from off of her shoulders and turning away from her, starting to walk closer to the statue that Christine was hiding behind.

"I can't believe what she did tonight - murdering James," he said softly. "I never thought that an angel was capable of doing something so evil... I didn't think _she_, as a person, was capable of doing something so evil."

At this, Christine let out a heavy sigh, suddenly not feeling so mad and unusual. The adrenaline had rushed from her body, and she had to lean against the statue for support. His words were more painful that any murder she was capable of committing.

_That's the thing, Cameron_, she thought to herself. _You've been wrong about me all this time. I'm not any kind of angel - not even an angel of Hell. I'm worse than that. I'm a completely flawed human being.  
_

Emilie looked at Cameron curiously. "Do you love her, Cameron? Are you in love with The Phantom of the Opera?"

Upon hearing Emilie ask such a thing of Cameron, Christine drew in her breath sharply and stepped a little closer in the direction of where she knew Cameron was standing, wanting to see if he would answer... and if he would, what his answer would be.

Could he love her, even though he surely knew that he was no more an angel than the next person - even though he knew that she was possibly the most horrible, imperfect creature to ever walk the earth?

A sudden thought then occurred to Cameron, and he quickly turned back towards Emilie, facing her and looking somewhat frantic, not answering her question. "I - I think she might be here, on this roof, right now, listening to us! She's everywhere now! Let's go somewhere else; let's try and find someplace that she can't get to us..."

"Oh, don't be such a goose!" Emilie scoffed, suddenly looking rather bold. "She isn't here! Why would she be?"

"She _is_ here," Cameron said with fear still in his eyes, his voice so full of determination that she didn't dare to try and argue with him, even though she disagreed. "I can feel her presence here. I'll prove to you right now that she's with us."

Then, as he looked all around the rooftop, he sang softly:

**Christine...  
Christine...**

Not wanting to disappoint him, as he already knew that she was there, Christine replied:

_Cameron..._

Emilie looked terrified upon hearing an unfamiliar voice respond to Cameron.

"What was that?" she whispered, rushing over to where he was and clinging to him.

Cameron wrapped his arms around her waist, still looking all around the rooftop for some sign of his Angel. "It was her," he said seriously. "It was Christine. She's here, just like I told you."

"Oh, Cameron!" Emilie cried out, clinging to him even tighter, if that was possible. "I'm frightened! I truly do think we should leave now - now that you've proven yourself right!"

Upon seeing her afraid, even though she was in his arms, Cameron shook his head and replied reassuringly, "Don't be afraid, Emilie. She won't hurt you; not while I'm around. I won't let her."

Emilie looked up into Cameron's eyes. "Do you love her?" she asked again, wanting to see if she had some sort of competition for the affection of young man who was holding her.

Christine held her breath. Was he really going to answer her this time - and, more than that, was he going to give her the answer that she, Christine, wanted to hear more than anything?

"No." Cameron cupped her chin. "No... I love _you_."

At this, Emilie smiled, then got on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Christine watched from behind the angel statue, watching with dull horror and sadness and feeling her heart ripping into about a million pieces.

They were kissing! They were kissing, and they _knew_ that she was there! Were they trying to give her some kind of cruel punishment for the murder she'd committed some short time earlier?

Whatever the reason they were kissing right in front of her was, she couldn't take it any more after a moment and turned away from them, bending over and feeling ready to cry.

Then, when Cameron and Emilie broke apart, Cameron smiled and took Emilie's hand in his.

"Let's go!" he exclaimed to her enthusiastically, and they ran back inside the Opera together without another care, holding onto each other's hands.

After a moment, Christine heard the door leading back inside the Opera close, and when she was sure that they were gone, she walked out from behind the angel statue and got down on her knees, her heart heavy.

Tears filling her eyes as she stared down, she sang softly:

_I gave you my music...  
Made your song take wing...  
And now, how you've repaid me...  
Denied me and betrayed me..._

_She was bound to love you  
When she heard you sing..._

"Cameron," she whispered helplessly, and then she started to cry, covering her face with her hands. "Oh, Cameron..."

She sobbed uncontrollably for a few moments until she heard the couple laughing inside. They were happy. They were happy together, and she was alone on the roof, miserable.

Angry, she rose, wiped away her tears, and ran to another statue, jumping onto it and climbing up it a little bit so that she was more elevated. Then she sang, halfway shouting:

_You will curse the day  
You did not do_

_All that The Phantom  
Asked of... you!_

Then she jumped off of the statue and ran down to her lair, determined to change things once and for all.


	28. Chapter 27: Genius's Mistake

A month later, Christine sat at the organ in her lair, writing some music, when François arrived.

"What are you writing now?" he asked, peering over her shoulder and examining the piece of sheet music she was writing. "Isn't that the love song you were writing not all that long ago?"

"Yes," she replied, not bothering to look up from the page and not saying that she didn't like him looking over her shoulder. "I'm finishing it and adding it to a new opera that I'm writing."

"Ah, I see. And what is the name of this new opera?"

She halfway smiled to herself, remembering how it was that she'd come up with the name for her opera. "_Genius's Mistake_."

"Hmm," he murmured, nodding and sitting down on the nearby sofa. "That sounds like an interesting name. May I ask what it's about?"

For a moment, she said and did nothing in reply, but then she stopped writing, placing her pen down on the organ, and sighed, turning to look at him. "The main female character is a genius and a composer who's living in the depths of Hell. She's looking for inspiration to write some new music, so she travels up to Earth to see what she can find. There she meets an angel - like the ones in Heaven, you know. She finds inspiration in him, also falling in love with him along the way. As she later finds out, he feels the same way about her."

"I see," he murmured. "Go on."

"However, there is conflict - falling in love with him was a big mistake on her part, since angels in Heaven and demons in Hell can never be together. It's impossible. There's also a male demon, who's basically the leader of the demons in Hell and second to Satan, who lusts after the main female; he'll do anything to get her. So the love interests have to choose between eternal existences without each other or to be together by one of them sacrificing their current existence... and, of course, the demon who lusts after the main female has to be stopped somehow. It's quite complex and dark, if I say so myself."

"Why does this plot sound somewhat familiar?" he inquired somewhat jokingly. "You know, excluding the male who's lusting after the female... and the male who's in love with the female. I can't put my finger on why I seem to recognize it."

She glared at him, feeling a little hurt from what he'd said about the male not really being in love with the female in reality but not saying anything. "Keep silent, François Jannes."

He smiled, then noticed that she looked absolutely famished and exhausted. "Christine, _mon ami_, I don't mean to offend you when I say this, but you look awful... you look like you haven't eaten or slept in days. Have you?"

"No... not in a week, as a matter of fact."

"Oh, Christine - why?" He looked concerned. "Depriving yourself of food and sleep is one of the worst things you can do. It's basically killing yourself, which is infinitely worse than killing others"

"I have to have this opera completed by the new year's masquerade," she replied with determination, turning her attention back to her sheet music and letting out a sigh. "I'm hoping this will be the thing that wins Cameron over. I'm writing it for him, you know. And if it doesn't, I'm not sure what will..."

He looked nervous. "Well, er - Christine... I thought you'd have heard by now. Don't you know? Cameron Luc and Emilie Chastain announced their engagement a week ago."

For a moment, there was a silence as she placed her pen down once more and slowly turned to look at him. Even though he wasn't really intimidated by her, he couldn't help but shiver a little when he saw the expression in her eyes.

"What did you say?" she inquired softly, and he wished that she was shouting instead. Having her be quiet was more dangerous than having her be loud; it showed that she was really trying to control her emotions a bit too much.

He thought about denying that he'd said anything of any consequence, but he knew that if he didn't tell her now, she would find out eventually, and she would be even angrier than she was now when she did.

"Cameron is going to marry _Mademoiselle_ Chastain," he admitted, saying it quickly and getting it over and done with. "He proposed to her over dinner, if I heard correctly, and she accepted. They're planning to marry sometime within the next six months or so."

She was silent as she processed this, and he could see what was visible of her face starting to redden - but out of anger, not out of embarrassment.

"_WHAT?_"

Her shout echoed through the entire lair, and he jolted slightly, his eyes widening.

He remained seated as she then rose abruptly and stormed over to where her cloak was hanging in stony silence, trying to control herself so that she wouldn't go completely overboard with her temper in front of him. She felt inside to make sure that her punjab was inside, just in case she needed it, and then pulled it off, putting it on over her shoulders. Then she stepped onto the gondola and started to row away.

"I'll be back shortly!" she shouted, her voice containing an ominous note of anger that was rising.

Silently scolding himself for having told her what had set her off, he watched helplessly as she rowed away, pitying anyone who would be unfortunate enough to cross her path while she was gone.


	29. Chapter 28: Spectacular Spectacular

**Disclaimer: I don't own the beginning of **_**Elephant Love Medley**_** from **_**Moulin Rouge!**_** ("Love is...", etc.) and the beginning of **_**All You Need is Love **_**by the awesomeness that is The Beatles (which was also in **_**Elephant Love Medley**_**, but I did more than what was in it). I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it.  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**  
Christine sat in her lair a month later, writing more of _Genius's Mistake_, when François arrived.

"_Monsieur_ Luc seems depressed," he informed her, sounding as if he believed his words to be very important. "It appears to me that he misses his Angel of Music. He isn't as motivated to sing as he was before."

She shrugged carelessly, looking cross. "Well, it's his fault. He's the one who betrayed me. He shouldn't have fallen in love with Emilie Chastain. But now he has, and partially due to that, I'm staying away from him. He brought this upon himself."

"Maybe you shouldn't have fallen in love with him," he said wisely. "You don't need someone to love. Look at me - I've never married, and I'm fine."

"Yes, look at you - you come to visit someone who's less than half your own age and is not even related to you, and that person is a deformed monstrosity who's obsessed with someone that doesn't care for them at all. You're lonely."

He shrugged, not bothering to try and argue the truth that he knew was in that statement. "Well, maybe you're supposed to live without love. It seems that I am."

"Live without love?" she asked, looking shocked. "But... no one can live without love! Or, at least, most people shouldn't! You shouldn't live without love."

She was silent for a moment, and then an actual smile came to her face. She turned to him. "Love is like oxygen. Love is a many-splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love, François!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What? What are you saying?"

She turned to the piano, playing a few chords before starting to play a song that he didn't recognize.. Then she sang:

_All you need is love...  
All you need is love...  
All you need is love, love...  
Love is all you need..._

Once she'd finished singing that bit, she played a little ending on the piano, then turned back to face him.

"Well, what did you think?" she inquired expectantly. "Do you think that song is rather nice? Kind of persuasive, too, don't you find? It makes _me_ want to believe that all you need is love."

He shrugged. "I suppose it's all right. Why, are you going to use it in _Genius's Mistake?_"

"No," she replied, shaking her head and turning her attention back to the music for _Genius's Mistake_ that she'd been working on upon his arrival. "It's just a song I wrote when I was feeling bored with doing _Genius's Mistake_."

"I see. Well, like I said, it's all right. I might not like it if you hadn't done it, though."

She sighed. "Oh, François - what a truly boring little fart you are at times! You don't like being in love, you don't like music about love... really, I don't understand how you and I are friends at all. I'm a romantic, while you're... well, I suppose you're just plain boring."

He laughed as he sat down next to her on the piano bench, at which she steadily ignored him and continued working on her music. "I'm an old man, _mon ami_. I think I can be forgiven for being boring, don't you?"

"Hmph," she murmured. "My father was infinitely older than you are, and he wasn't ever boring. Of course, he and I were a lot of the same person - musically inclined romantics who have the worst-looking faces in the world."

For a moment, he didn't look too happy about her comparing him to Erik, as he knew he could never replace anyone's father, but then he chose to ignore it and peered at a piece of the sheet music in front of him.

"Another love song, it appears," he said after studying the sheet for a moment, picking it up. "What's the name of it? _This_ -"

"Shh!" she hissed. "Don't say it aloud. I don't like people saying the names of my songs - even _I_ don't say them. It's taboo."

"How is that taboo, exactly?"

"It doesn't matter _how_ it's taboo. What matters is that it _is_ taboo. So don't say the name." She paused for a moment. "Now what about the song?"

He gave her an odd look, but then he shrugged and scanned the music once again. "All right, then. Anyway, the song looks like a good song, even if it is a bit about love. Will the opera be good?"

"Of course it's going to be good!" she exclaimed, giving him a that's-so-obvious look and using the tone of voice to match it. "This is going to be the best opera of all time; the best that Paris has ever seen. It will have spectacular visual effects, wonderful songs, great dances, and -"

"You're already trying to advertise," he said with a laugh. "That's unusual. You're not even finished with it yet."

"That happens quite often," she replied, shrugging. "Don't act so surprised. A lot of the operas that are performed here are advertised when the composer hasn't completed them or the cast and crew haven't finished preparing everything for the show... or something like that. You just don't notice or don't care."

"I see."

"This opera will make Mozart look practically ridiculous," she continued.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Honestly, I don't think one can really make Mozart look ridiculous to any degree. And it's a little self-centered to think that, don't you think?"

"Well, most musicians are self-centered when it comes to their work - most _artists_, in fact. Now leave me alone, please, so I can work."

Then, without another word, she continued to write.


	30. Chapter 29: Turning Fifteen

_I'm fifteen now._

_François came down to the lair this evening - and God knows how he knew it was my birthday; I certainly didn't tell him when it was, as I certainly don't believe that the occasion should be celebrated. He brought a present with him as well. He appeared shocked that I was surprised to be receiving something from him._

_"It's your birthday, Christine," he said. "Why shouldn't you receive a gift from me? I'm your friend."_

_I shrugged. "Nobody but my father has ever given me a present, François. It's just... odd, that's all. Besides, I wasn't really planning on celebrating my birthday tonight. I was just going to work on _Genius's Mistake_. I haven't even prepared a meal for myself to eat, whether in celebration or not; you've come down to nothing but my typical evening."_

_"But it's not a typical evening!" he insisted. "You're fifteen now; you're becoming a young woman. Look - you've even gotten taller! See?"_

_He uncovered one of the many mirrors that surround my lair and placed his hands on my shoulders, guiding me over in front of it so that I could see myself. It was true; I was approximately a foot taller than I'd been the last time I'd bothered to look in a mirror._

_While I liked the fact that I was taller now - I could probably fit into one of my father's robes, which always looked so comfortable, that's black and has a beautiful design on the back - it wasn't that that I was paying attention to now. I only seemed to be aware of his hands resting on my shoulders. He'd never touched me of his own accord before, and I wasn't quite sure what to think about it._

_His hands were not rough, as they looked, but rather soft, and warm. I wanted to move away, but then again, at the same time, I had a strange sort of desire for him to hold me closer. I wanted that for some reason._

_It was then, however, that I remembered that this was my friend, not my lover, or my obsession, and, most of all, not Cameron. He was François, a man who was old enough to be my father. He'd actually rather, in a way, replaced my father - though I'd never mentioned it to him. He was only a man - a kind man, to be sure, but not someone that I was actually in love with the way I loved Cameron._

_The moment now gone, I shrugged away from his touch and walked back over to the piano, sitting down and starting to work on one of my songs for _Genius's Mistake_._

_"Christine."_

_I felt myself stiffen, and then I turned to face him with a hesitance that I'm sure was obvious to him. I glanced up at him._

_He looked at me for a long moment, then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a rectangular box. He opened it to reveal the loveliest necklace I'd ever seen. It had a gold chain with sparkling rubies lining it. I couldn't help but stare at it._

_He pulled the necklace out of the box, then turned me so that I faced the piano again. "Hold up your hair."_

_I put a hand to my hair and lifted it off of the back of my neck. Then he put it around my neck, linking it with its tiny clasp and then stepping back._

_I put my hair back down and looked down at the necklace, fingering it and sitting there, not sure of what to do next. I didn't know how to thank him; I surely hadn't expected to receive such an expensive present from him. So I remained silent._

_Then he spoke, saying my name again. "Christine."_

_He said those two syllables as though they were a prayer, as though my name was the name of God. The way he said it made me feel rather frightened, but, against all my instincts as to ignore him, I turned and faced him again._

_He looked down at me solicitously for what seemed like eternity. The way he glanced at me made me take a deep breath, and I felt my hands start to tremble the tiniest bit, so that only I noticed._

_Then he walked closer to me, and then he reached his hand out to my face. I found myself holding my breath._

_But then, at the last minute, when he wasn't even an inch away from touching me, he moved his hand away from me and placed it down at his side. He looked at me for a moment in awkward silence._

_"Happy birthday, Christine," he said quietly. "Good night."_

_I nodded solemnly and fingered my necklace for a brief moment. "Good night, François. Thank you for the necklace."_

_"You're welcome."_

_He was silent for a moment, then walked a few steps closer to me and looked down at me. Then, with all the uncertainty and timidity of some boy my own age, he brought his hands to my face and kissed me on the forehead._

_Without another word, and without waiting for me to reply, he turned on his heel and made his way out of my lair through the exit to the stables._

_He kissed me on the forehead... but why?_

A week after she turned fifteen, Christine made her way up to the above world to go and see François. She knew that he wasn't working today - he hadn't been at the Opera since he'd come down to her lair to celebrate her birthday. But that didn't matter, because she'd one day found where he lived, and she intended to go there and locate him.

With her hood over her head, no one looked at her strangely, assuming that she was just another common Parisian trying to keep herself warm from the November wind. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as she shivered and made her way down to the Rue de Rivoli, where François's apartment was.

She made her way up the few steps of François's apartment, glanced around nervously, as though waiting for someone to see her, then knocked on the door several times.

She heard the sound of several bolts being unlocked, and then the door opened.

François started as he saw that she was standing there. His eyes widened incredulously.

'"Christine?" he whispered. "What on earth are you -"

"May I come in?" she murmured, interrupting him and shivering slightly. "It's quite cold out here, and I'd like to speak to you where - well, where I can't be seen."

He stepped aside. "Of course. I'm sorry; that was uncivil of me not to invite you in, wasn't it? Please come in."

"Thank you," she said, stepping inside as he closed and locked the door behind her. She pulled off her hood and looked around at where François resided. "Quite a small place you have."

"Yes, well, I live alone, as you know," he said, stepping next to her. "I don't need much room. Would you like to come into the sitting room and have tea?"

"That would be very nice, thank you," she replied, following him into the sitting room and sitting herself down on the sofa.

"Would you like me to take your cloak?"

"No, thank you. I don't intend to stay for very long; I just want to speak to you very briefly."

He nodded. "All right. Let me get tea."

Then he turned and walked out into the kitchen, and she looked after him.

After a moment, he walked back in with a tea pot, along with two teacups and saucers. Then he placed everything down and poured tea into her cup, then his.

"Do you take anything in your tea?"

"No, thank you; I like my tea plain, like I normally do when we're in my lair." She picked up her cup and saucer and blew on her tea to cool it off. Then she took a sip. "Good tea."

"Thank you," he replied, taking a sip of his own tea and setting his cup and saucer down on the table. "Now, Christine - what is it that you came here for?"

She looked hesitant. "I was wondering about last week... when you kissed me... on the forehead... what happened?"

"You mean you're wondering what inclined me to do that?"

"Yes." She nodded.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "I've been wondering that myself... but now I know." He paused, looking over at where she sat. "Christine, I love you."

Her grey-green eyes widened. He _what?_

"Oh, not in that way, my dear!" he said hastily when he saw her reaction. "I mean like family... I've no family in the world, you see, and, having been with you so often, you've made me feel like a father. You're like the daughter that I never had. That's one of the reasons why I've watched you so closely at the Opera, so that I know that you're staying out of an incredibly large amount of trouble. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you, be it because of bad behavior or if you got in harm's way. That's why I didn't want you to become The Phantom, just in case something happened to you that was similar to what happened to your father. You being female was just my excuse to try and dissuade you. But it didn't work; you're so damned stubborn."

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Last week, I felt inclined to touch your face and kiss your forehead, to show you physical affection, like a father would to a daughter. I wanted you to know that there's someone out there in the world, even if it's just one person, who cares for you, loves you as family, and will never, never, hurt you, no matter what anyone else does to you. I wanted you to feel and know that there's at least one person in the world who doesn't care what you look like underneath that mask, and who will never judge you because of it. So, now that I've said all of this, I hope you know that... do you understand what I'm saying, Christine?"

She was silent for a moment, soaking it all in. Nobody, not even Erik, had ever said something so deep and powerful to her. With Erik, she'd just always known that he loved her and cared about her unconditionally - any father should have that for his daughter, and she'd known that Erik had had that for her But hearing François, who hadn't even known her for a year of her life, say it was something entirely different.

When she continued to remain silent, he reached out and took one of her hands, squeezing it on impulse. "You're a good girl, Christine," he said gently. "I'd like to think that you won't ever let anyone make you think otherwise - not even yourself. I know you might like to think that you're some kind of evil, but you're far from it."

Something about that phrase made tears well up in her eyes. A single tear fell down her masked cheek, causing it to get stuck there.

"Oh!" she muttered in irritation, reaching up to her mask and taking it off. She wiped the tear away, then realized that François could now see what she looked like underneath the mask.

She let out a cry of fear, quickly placing the mask back on her face. Then she looked up at him nervously. "I certainly hope you didn't see that."

He shrugged. "What if I did? I swear to you, Christine, I don't care a thing about what's underneath this" - he tapped her mask. "I care about Christine, not Christine's deformity."

She managed a small smile. "Thank you, François."

He didn't reply; instead, he simply took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "There's no need to thank me for anything, child."

For a moment, there was a silence, and suddenly, Christine suddenly felt very safe. Ever since her father's death, she'd always been looking over her shoulder everywhere she'd gone - but in that moment, she felt like she didn't have to do that. With her father figure around, she was secure.

When the moment of silence was gone, he pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at it. "Now, my dear, it's very late. I suggest you go home and get some rest."

Sighing, she rose, and he rose with her. "You know as well as I do that I won't sleep, François... I've only got two more months until the New Year's masquerade, and I'm still not finished with _Genius's Mistake_. But yes, I'd better get home, so that I can work on it."

She made her way to the door, and he followed her, opening the door for her.

"Would you like me to walk you home?" he inquired. "It's rather late; I don't want you getting hurt somehow."

"No, thank you," she replied, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. "I'll be quite all right. When will you be returning to work?"

"Tomorrow. Since I imagine that this is the only time you're venturing out of your lair until the masquerade, I'll come down and see you." He stood there for another moment, gazing at her. "Good night, Christine. Sleep well - or, rather, work well, since you won't sleep."

She nodded. "Good night, François."

Then, without another word, she turned and started walking down the steps of his apartment.

He watched her leave until she vanished into the darkness of the street ahead, and then closed the door behind him.


	31. Chapter 30: Lady Red Death

From that day forward, François watched Christine all the more closely, making sure that she stayed out of trouble. But for quite some time following his confession that he considered her to be family, he didn't really have anything to worry about, as she was working on _Genius's Mistake_ in her lair. She never left after coming to his apartment that one night.

He one day, about a month later, walked into the lair to see her dancing. It was very odd to see Christine making any sort of hurried movement other than walking quickly or running, and this dance was incredibly strange; he'd never seen anything like it. So he stood, silent watching her, rather bemused.

She made a pirouette and caught sight of him, letting out a little yell and falling down rather ungracefully.

Seeing Christine make any kind of movement that was out of character, such as a movement that was hurried or ungraceful, like falling, struck him as incredibly funny. He burst out laughing, throwing his head back.

"Oh, _François!_"she exclaimed rather irritably, placing a hand on the piano bench to support herself as she stood up. She gave him a look that told him that she didn't find it nearly as funny as he did that she had fallen, but he couldn't help but continue laughing.

"Why on Earth didn't you tell me that you were here?" she then demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know that you're not just dancing because you feel inclined to do so," he said, laughing and wiping away a tear. "What on Earth are you dancing for?"

She let out a huffy sigh, blowing a wisp of her hair out of her face. "It's a dance for _Genius's Mistake_. In one of the songs the lead male sings, there's a dance that's really quite complex - and he has to do it with others. I'm trying to make sure that I can do it, because if I can't, there's a chance that I can't put it in the show, because Cameron might not be able to do it."

"Still trying to win him back from Emilie Chastain, are you?" he inquired, letting out a soft sigh as he was reminded about how tired he was of his friend hopelessly trying to pursue someone who obviously didn't return her love for him. "Oh, wait - you never had him in the first place."

"Ha," she replied sarcastically. "Have they married?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. They're supposed to marry about two weeks after the New Year."

"Good," she sighed, sitting herself down on the piano bench and running her fingers through her hair. "That means that I'll have some small amount of time to try and dissuade him from being with her."

"Have you finished Genius's Mistake yet?"

"Yes. Now I'm trying to work out the visual effects and choreography, like you just saw." As she then paused for a moment, a thought occured to her, and she suddenly looked up at him. "Oh, I have to prepare my costume! I need to finish it quickly... I haven't even started! Damn!"

Without another word, she rose from her seat once again and made her way into a room that she'd never allowed anyone else in - the room that had been Erik's bedroom when he'd been alive.

She was gone for a few minutes, and when she returned, she was carrying a huge amount of red material that had gold embroidery in some places with what appeared to be quite a bit of difficulty.

His eyes widened. "What is _that?_"

"My father's old Red Death costume," she replied, placing the costume down on top of the piano and separating the pieces out. Then she stared at them critically for a moment.

"I'm going to have to change it into a dress... or maybe a top and a skirt of sorts," she mumbled thoughtfully to herself. "I can't go out there wearing trousers... yes, I'll make it into a dress."

"How are you going to make all of that into a dress, dear?"

She scratched her head in a thoughtful manner. "I'm not quite sure. Maybe if I do this..."

Her voice trailed off then, and she walked over to the organ and dug through a small box that contained wax figurines that Erik had had of people at the Opera when they were performing on the stage. Then she found the one she wanted - the figurine of her mother when she'd performed _Think of Me_ all those years ago - and took it out of the box.

"The end result should look something like this, but red and much more extravagant-looking, probably," she said thoughtfully. She turned to him and held up the figuring. "What do you think, François? Could I do it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. You could probably do anything you want if you set your mind to it. It might be a good challenge - and I'd like to see you make clothes of your own."

"I make my own clothes all the time... or, really, I have several outfits that I've had for years and I alter them whenever they're not the right size any longer. So this shouldn't be too difficult."

After saying this, she sat down, grabbed a spool of red thread, scissors, and a needle, and then started picking up pieces of Erik's Red Death costume and cutting and ripping them apart.

When she became completely absorbed in her work after a moment, not saying another word, François sat down and watched her work silently.

By the time two weeks had passed, Christine was done with the costume and was ready to go to the masquerade.

"I'm done," she said triumphantly to François as she sat in the lair with him one day when these too weeks had passed. "It's complete, and... oh, it looks marvelous, if it doesn't sound conceited to call your own work _marvelous_."'

She paused for a moment, and then she asked rather shyly, "Would you - would you like to see it?"

He glanced up from the book he'd been reading and raised his eyebrows at her. "On you, you mean?"

She nodded. "And with the eye make-up and mask, along with my hair pinned up."

"Certainly," he replied, smiling

"All right. I'll be back in a few moments," she replied, rising and then disappearing into her bedroom without another word to him.

As he waited for her, he continued reading his book. He wasn't a very fast reader, but she was gone long enough he got through about five chapters before he heard the door to her bedroom open. He was so absorbed in the story, however, that he didn't even look up until she spoke.

"François..."

He looked up from his book and looked at Christine, fully dressed in her Red Death Costume. His jaw actually dropped open in amazement at how she looked.

"My God, Christine... you look... stunning," he breathed.

"Thank you," she replied, bowing her head in a rare gesture of modesty and then turning around so he could get a full view of her. "How does it look? Are there any other alterations that should be made, do you think?"

"No, you don't need any more alterations... it looks wonderful." He pointed to the small black silk gloves that were on her hands. "Those weren't your father's, were they?"

"No, they're mine. My father wore leather, and his hands were, obviously, much bigger than mine. But do you think I look nice?"

"Indeed you do. That outfit itself might win _Monsieur_ Luc over yet. Now you'd better go take it off so that you don't ruin it somehow, though."

She nodded silently in agreement. Then she walked out into her room to change back into her clothes.

When she was redressed, she hung up her costume and looked at it, admiring her own handiwork. Then she looked down at her sword and fingered it. She would be the spitting image of her father; she thoroughly enjoyed the thought of that. He would be proud of her if he were here, she knew.

As she closed her closet door, she remembered - tomorrow would be the anniversary of her father's death! She couldn't believe that she'd forgotten.

_Well, no matter that I forgot_, she thought to herself, lifting her chin up in a decisive and somewhat haughty gesture. _At least I remembered now, and I'll go to visit him at the cemetery tomorrow._


	32. Chapter 31: Deathday Promise

The next day, Christine woke up early and got dressed in her black lace dress. Then she gathered up some black - ribboned red roses and placed them on the piano. She was about to put on her cloak, get the roses, and leave on the gondola, when she remembered that she needed something to keep her calm while she was at the cemetery.

She grabbed a morphine container, stuck the needle of a syringe in it, put some morphine in it, and then pulled it out again. Then she stuck the needle in her arm, on one of the bruises that she already had from needles, and injected the morphine in her arm.

"Ahh," she sighed peacefully, then pulled the needle out of her arm and threw it in the trash. Then she pulled on her cloak and picked up the roses. She grabbed the rowing rod, stepped on the gondola, and rowed away.

Once she arrived at the cemetery about twenty minutes later, she sat down on the steps of Erik's grave, placing the roses down for a moment. "Hello," she murmured, sighing.

She sat there for a moment in silence, enjoying the peace that she was feeling, until she finally spoke. "One year, Father," she said softly. "One year exactly without you... I don't know how I've survived. I suppose it's the morphine - by the way, thank you for being a morphine addict at some point in your life; the morphine has gotten me through your death, along with other things. I suppose 'like father, like daughter' still hasn't changed between us... even in addiction." She paused for a moment. "Oh, by the way, the new year's masquerade is coming up in about two weeks, and I changed up your Red Death costume a bit so that it's a dress. It looks quite nice; I'll look a lot like you did... but, of course, I look a lot like you anyway."

Then there was another pause of silence before she starting speaking once more. "In case you haven't been watching me - which I'm sure you have -, I've fallen in love with someone, Father. A handsome chorister named Cameron Luc. He's English, five years my senior, incredibly handsome, and... well, in love with someone else." She looked at Erik's grave in despair, as though he were right there, in person, in front of her. "History repeated itself, Father; it repeated itself so badly that it hurts. This girl that Cameron loves... Emilie Chastain is her name - she's beautiful. It's really quite disgusting when I think of it. She's his age, and she's a chorister as well - she's a lovely singer, as he is, and he's wonderful because I was his Angel of Music - I still am, I suppose, although he's met me. See, I told you that history repeated itself!"

She sat there for another moment, fuming. "I'm going to win him back, Father," she said determinedly. "I'll win him back if it means killing anyone who dares to stand in my way... yes, I'm quite sure that I'll have to kill Emilie Chastain in the end. When Cameron betrayed me with Emilie, the urge to kill was so great, I thought I'd die of it. But now I won't control it. I'll kill her if that's what I have to do. I'm forced to follow this path to the end, no matter where it may lead. I swore to you that I'd live the life that you didn't, Father... and I'll keep that promise no matter what." She rose from the steps of Erik's grave. "I won't let you down, Father... I won't disappoint you!"

With that vow spoken, she turned and walked back to the Opera.


	33. Chapter 32: Party Crasher

**Disclaimer: I don't own the very end of the _Phantom_ song _Masquerade_ or the _Phantom_ song _Why So Silent?_ (which I had to change to make sense).**

**A/N: I'll have phan art of Red Death Christine, along with phan art of Cameron and Emilie, up at some point.**

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Two weeks later, it New Year's Eve, was the night of the masquerade.

Christine got ready quickly, anxious to get to the masquerade by midnight, when everyone would be there, singing, dancing, drinking, and celebrating. Everyone who worked at the Opera would be having some sort of party, and she was planning on going to the prominent one, where the more important people of the Opera - the managers, Pablo, Emilie Chastain's sister, Marie, who was the lead soprano, Cameron, and Emilie - would be.

When she was dressed, she shuffled over to the piano, where the score and designs for _Genius's Mistake_ were sitting in a folder. She skimmed through the pages, making sure everything was there. Everything was there.

She walked over to a mirror she'd uncovered and checked herself. Her mask - which had originally been Erik's - was on correctly and intact, her gloves were on her hands, her dress was perfect, her red cloak was on, her shoes were on, her hair was pinned up, and her sword - again, Erik's at first - was on its belt. In a rare conceited moment, she told herself that she didn't look shoddy in the least bit.

Smiling with satisfaction, she picked up her cloak - which was long - so that it wouldn't hang over the gondola, grabbed her _Genius's Mistake _folder, stepped on the gondola, grabbed the rowing rod, and rowed away.

When she'd reached the dressing room and closed the mirror, she checked her pocketwatch. It was 11:58 - she had two minutes. She picked up her cloak and the skirts of her dress and walked quickly to the main hall, where the stairway was.

At midnight exactly, she could see the stairway of the main hall and could see everyone there. She glanced around momentarily, then saw the person she was looking for especially - Cameron, who was at the bottom of the stairway, standing there with Emilie. She smiled. Perfect.

Everyone started singing.

_Masquerade!_

_Burning glances, tuning heads_

_Masquerade -_

_Stop and stare_

_At the sea of smiles_

_Around you..._

_Masquerade!_

_Grinning yellows, spinning reds_

_Masquerade -_

_Take your fill,_

_Let the spectacle astound you..._

It was her time now. She stepped at the top of the stairway, and, for some odd reason, the lights dimmed. Everyone stopped singing and dancing and turned to the top of the stairway, where she stood.

Murmurs of fear and excitement at this new presence - who everyone knew was The Phantom of the Opera - started going around the main hall. She looked around at everyone, grinning wickedly.

The managers went pale. Pablo shivered. Marie glanced from her little sister, Emilie, to Christine. Emilie stood, glaring at Christine contemptuously. Cameron seemed to shrink.

Christine slowly started descendng the stairs as everyone stood and stared, dumbfounded. Then she sang:

_Why so silent,_

_Good messieurs?_

_Did you think_

_That I had left you for good?_

_Have you missed me,_

_Good messieurs?_

_I have written you an opera..._

_Here, I bring the finished score -_

Genius's Mistake

She threw the _Genius's Mistake_ folder down on the floor and pulled her sword out of its belt. Then she continued.

_Fondest greetings to you all..._

_A few instructions just before rehearsal starts..._

She pointed her sword at Pablo.

_Pablo must be taught to act,_

_Not his normal trick of strutting round the stage..._

Pablo stuck his nose up in the air, then shrank under her cold stare.

She pointed her sword at Marie, who was always tardy to rehearsal.

_And Marie must not be late -_

_You must be on time,_

_For your role, Marie, is great..._

Marie blushed as Christine turned to the managers and pointed her sword at them.

_And my managers must learn_

_That their place is in an office -_

_Not the arts..._

The managers shrank at the fact that they were being told where to work by a teenager.

Then Christine turned to face out to the front of the main hall, where Cameron and Emilie stood. She put her sword back in its belt and looked at Cameron, who had his head bowed. Then she said in a soft and menacing voice, "And as for our star... _Monsieur_ Cameron Luc..."

Cameron hesitated, then fearfully looked up at where she stood.

She continued:

_No doubt he'll do his best -_

_It's true his voice is good;_

_He knows, though,_

_Should he wish to excel,_

_He has much still to learn,_

_If pride will let him_

_Return to me, his teacher..._

_His teacher..._

All was quiet as the spectators watched for what would happen next.

Christine looked down at Cameron from where she stood pleadingly, silently willing for him to come back to her.

Cameron stared up at his Angel of Music for a moment, then slowly let go of Emilie's hand and started walking away from Emilie, his fiancee, towards Christine, his angel.

Emilie tried to restrain him, but when she placed a hand on his arm, he merely shrugged it off and continued walking. She stood there silently, wondering what Christine might do to him if they got any closer.

When Christine saw that Cameron was walking up the steps towards her now, she slowly started making her way down the steps towards him. She felt a small sense of satisfaction going through her. He was coming back!

When they'd met in the middle, Cameron stared at Christine, who was still slightly higher than he. He was spellbound, but not under any kind of power, like a trance. He was just astonished that his angel had returned; he'd thought that he'd lost her forever.

Christine scanned Cameron up and down, then somehow had her eyes wander to his left hand, where he had a small gold band on his ring finger - an engagement ring.

Fury went through her. She grabbed the ring off of his finger and cried out,

_Your bands are still mine!_

She leaned in slightly closer to him so that her angry eyes met his now terrified ones and waved the ring in front of him, hissing, "You belong to _me_!"

Feeling her left hand twitch - a sign that she was angry and ready to kill -, she stormed up the stairs to stand above a trapdoor, then grabbed some powder that her father had had to create fire on contact with solid ground and threw it down on the floor. An explosion went up around her, and then she stomped on the trapdoor, causing it to open, and she fell through it.

Cameron's eyes widened when the smoke cleared and he saw that she was gone. The trapdoor was still open, however, so he quickly made his way toward it. He'd just seen his Angel of Music for the first time in six months, and he wasn't about to lose her again. He jumped in the trapdoor.

"No!" Emilie cried out as he jumped in and the door closed after him.

Underneath the trapdoor, Cameron looked wildly around the tiny mirrored room for Christine. Then a flash of red caught his eye. He saw Christine walking away quickly, towards a small door, and rushed after her.

When they were close enough so that she was within his reach, he grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "Angel!"

Christine looked at him. "Cameron," she murmured softly. "What are you doing down here?"

"I - I thought you'd abandoned me, Angel," he said hurriedly. "I haven't seen you in six months... I thought you'd left me."

"I never left you, Cameron," she said quietly. "Now go back up with your fiancee - you can't come with me now."

"But Angel - "

"You're engaged!" she exclaimed. "You cannot come with me, not when you're about to get married. You'll not see me again, Cameron, but you'd better make sure that everyone follows my orders for my opera. Now go."

He gave her a look of despair. "Angel, please - don't leave me! I need you... tell me how I can be with you and Emilie. I'll do whatever you want to keep you here so that I can see you again... anything!"

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "_Anything?_" she echoed hesitantly.

"Anything, Angel - anything for you."

She was silent for a moment as she thought about a plan quickly. "All right - I know, but you'll have to make a decision about something if you want to see me again." She paused. "You must decide if you want to marry Emilie Chastain or continue furthering your career under my guidance. If you choose Emilie, then you won't see me again - ever. If you choose to continue furthering your career under my guidance, then you must break off - or, at least, postpone - your engagement to Emilie Chastain. And then, when you decide that you want to marry Emilie after having been with me for a time, then you must tell me, and then you won't see me again. I shall meet you in the dressing room with the mirror a week from today. We shall go down to my lair and have tea, and then you shall tell me your answer. But you have to swear that you will come next week... do you swear to come back, Cameron - even if the answer is no?"

He contemplated her proposal. It seemed fair enough. He nodded. "All right."

"Good." She paused, and there was the bang on the trapdoor above. They heard the sound of Emilie shouting to someone to get a sledgehammer. "I must go," she said, then exited through the small door that she stood by, leaving him alone.


	34. Chapter 33: The Decision

_Tonight I'm going down to the mirror to learn my fate. I know, however, that it won't really be necessary to go down, since I know what his answer is going to be._

_As I sit here and write, I know that I'm going to have to let him go with quiet dignity and grace. He's going to be with Emilie; he doesn't want to be in the company of a half - crazed monster any longer._

_But maybe I'll try praying. I've never prayed before, but here I go._

_"Please, God, let him love me and I promise to be good forever..."_

Christine sat in her lair on the piano bench, trying to pass the time until it was time for her to go down to the mirror and meet Cameron.

She sighed impatiently and pulled her pocketwatch out, glancing at it. It was 6:45 P.M. - time for her to go. It would take her about fifteen minutes to reach the mirror, and she wanted to be at the mirror by seven o'clock.

She put her cloak on over her shoulders, stepped onto the gondola, grabbed the rowing rod, and rowed away.

When she reached the passageway near the mirror, she walked faster, feeling excitement rise in her.

Then, as she stepped up by the mirror, there was Cameron, sitting down at the small dresser, writing something down on some stationery. He'd come, just as he'd promised he would.

She smiled and knocked on the mirror.

Cameron glanced up at the mirror, rose, put the paper in a drawer, and walked over to the mirror.

She then opened the mirror and gazed at him for a moment. "Hello, Cameron," she said softly, smiling a little.

His face broke out into a wide smile. "Angel!" he said joyously. "I've been waiting to see you all week!"

"The feeling is mutual," she said, extending her hand to him. "Come with me?"

He took her hand and smiled. "Certainly."

She smiled and starteed stepping him backwards, leading him down to her world. When he'd stepped completely inside the passageway, she closed the mirror. Then she started walking again, holding onto his hand.

They walked in silence for a while. Then she finally asked, "Has everyone been following my orders for my opera so far?"

He nodded. "I think they're too terrified of you to disobey," he said, laughing a little.

She smiled a little and shrugged. "The world is full of victims and predators, Cameron," she said. "If you don't know that now, you will eventually."

He nodded again, and they subsided into silence for a few minutes more. Then he said, "I've made my decision, Angel."

"Oh?"

"Yes... may I tell you now, please?"

He felt her hand stiffen in his. "Yes, I suppose so," she said slowly. She took a deep breath as quietly as possible, preparing herself for the ultimate rejection. "All right. Go ahead and tell me."

He walked in silence for a moment. "I'm staying with you."

She drew in her breath sharply, hardly believing her ears. "You're choosing me?" she asked in disbelief. "You would rather be with me than be with your fiancee and get married?"

"Yes."

She glanced at him, still not convinced. "You're sure?" she persisted. "_Absolutely_ certain?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yes... I've missed you so badly these past six months, Christine... there's no way on earth that I'm letting you go, not after only seeing you again a week ago."

She stopped walking for a moment, staring at him. "You called me Christine," she said softly.

"Yes," he said, shrugging and looking rather confused. "That _is_ your name, isn't it?"

"Yes... it's just that you've never called me by my name before. Well, you've called me by my name once before. Any other time you've called me 'Angel'."

"Well, an angel though you may be, your name is not 'Angel'. It's Christine."

She smiled, then started to walk again. "Well, I'm glad that you think that I'm an angel, but I'm not."

"You _are_ an angel," he said firmly. "You're _my_ angel."

"Well, thank you. I'm flattered. Secondly, I'm glad that you've chosen to call me by my name. It was nice to call me 'Angel', but I was beginning to find it rather tiresome after you knew me - no offense." She stepped onto the gondola and helped him on. Then she grabbed the rowing rod and started to row away.

After she started rowing, he looked up at her and said, "Well, you're quite brilliant, Christine."

She looked down at him and laughed. "I'm brilliant? What makes you say that?"

"You wrote _Genius's Mistake_ all by yourself, did you not?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Well, that's brilliant. It's a wonderful piece of work, it is. I'm flattered that you put me in the lead male role."

She smiled. "Thank you." She looked up and saw the gate opening. "We're here," she said brightly.

The gate opened, and she rowed inside. Then it closed and the curtain dropped back as she rowed onto the shore of the lake.

Then she stepped off of the gondola, pulled off her cloak, hung it up, and placed the rowing rod down on the ground. She walked over to him and extended her hand to him. "Come."

He took her hand and stepped off of the gondola. Then he looked around the lair, fascinated. "Wow," he breathed. "I'd forgotten how beautiful everything was here." He looked at her and smiled. "It's good to be back."

She led him up to the piano and sat him down on the sofa. "Now," she said, sitting down on the piano bench, "what would you like to do? Have some tea? Eat some supper? Sleep?"

He yawned and stretched. "Well, I'd like to have some tea first, please. Then I think I'll go to bed. I'm feeling rather tired."

She nodded. "All right. Tea it is." Then she rose and walked into the kitchen to make some tea.

A few minutes later, she walked back out into the main part of the lair with a tray with a teapot, saucers, and teacups. She placed it down on the table. "There you go," she said, then started pouring tea. Then she sliced some lemon, placed it on the cup, and handed him the cup. "Here."

"Thank you," he said, taking the cup and sipping his tea. Then he placed it down and motioned to the cup. "What kind of tea is this? It's not English."

"No, it's not," she said, shaking her head. "I don't make English tea. It's Russian tea with lemon. My father used to make it a lot."

"Ah. It's quite good."

"Thank you."

He finished his tea and placed his cup back on the table. Then he yawned and stretched again. "Oh, I'm tired," he sighed. He rose. "I'm going to bed. Good night, Christine."

She nodded and smiled. "Good night, Cameron."

Without saying another word, he walked into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

_The decision was made._

_The best thing about it? I won! He chose me over Emilie Chastain! I get to be with him again... even if it's for just a bit longer._

_For a moment, I felt guilty about it, because I know what I've done. I've taken his heart and cruelly twisted it into submission. I threatened that he would never see me again if he chose her, halfway aware that he wants to continue to be tutored by his Angel of Music._

_I even felt bad for Emilie Chastain for a moment. She loves him, and now I've taken him away from her for some time by making him postpone her delightful little wedding to him._

_But now I don't feel bad for her... it's a terrible mistake to start pitying the enemy!_

_All I care about is having Cameron back, and that's exactly what has happened._


	35. Chapter 34: A Few Instructions

**A/N: Cameron's going to start having a diary (journal, whatever), too. It'll be in bold and italics together.**

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_**Beyond the lake, in the catacombs of the Opera Populaire, is a wondrous place full of magic and mystery. And there is one person who makes all of this happen - Christine.**_

_**Every day that I'm with her, I sink a little deeper into Christine's influence. She teaches me so many things - not about just singing or music, but many things about the world that I wouldn't have a clue about otherwise.**_

_**It's quite funny, really, when I think about it - I'm learning things from a fifteen - year - old girl! I'm always filled with wonder every time she tells me something new; I wonder how she got to be so smart...**_

_**But one thing I'm completely curious to know about - the one thing that she won't tell me - is about her personal life. All she's told me about it is that she'd lived in her home since she was about a month old, with only her father for company.**_

_**Jannes told me some time ago that her father had been The Phantom before she, and that he had been killed a little over a year ago, but he never says any more than that.**_

_**Then, whenever I ask her about it, she gets all hostile. If I push it too far, she gets angry about it and shouts at me... she has a violent and ungovernable temper.**_

_**How is it that I make her so angry by asking the simplest questions?**_

"Cameron."

Cameron walked over to where Christine sat on the piano bench and sat himself down on the floor in front of her. "Yes, Christine?"

She gazed at him for a moment. "It's time for you to go back up," she finally said, rising and walking over to where her cloak was hung up. She put it on over her shoulders and turned back to where he still sat. "Come."

He looked at her beseechingly for a moment. "Why must I go?" he asked sadly. "Do you not want me here with you? I'm sorry if I make you angry when I ask you about your -"

"Oh, Cameron, it isn't that!" she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You need to go back up to work on _Genius's Mistake_. They can't exactly rehearse without you there. It's already been two weeks; I can't be the reason that they postpone rehearsal any longer. Besides, I need you to take a message up to them."

"I see." He rose and walked over to her, sighing. "Then I suppose you need to take me back."

She nodded. "And besides, then you can see Emilie again. You want to see her again, don't you? She _is_ your fiancee. Take her out to a nice supper tonight. You've missed her, I know."

His face lit up at the sound of that idea. "Truly?"

She swallowed hard, trying to restrain herself from getting angry out of jealousy. "Truly. Now come." She stepped onto the gondola and grabbed the rowing rod.

When he'd stepped on, she rowed away.

When they reached the passageway, she extended her hand to him. He took it, and then they walked down the passageway to the mirror together.

Then they stepped up to the mirror. "What was it that you wanted me to tell everyone?" he asked her.

"Ah, yes," she said, nodding. "Tell them that I don't want them working on anything but _Genius's Mistake_ until I tell them not to. They _may not_ work on any other production. Am I clear?"

He nodded. "Yes. How long is this going to take?"

She shrugged. "A little over a year, perhaps."

"A _year_?" His eyes widened. "That's quite a long time... how will the Opera make any money?"

"It won't. That's my other instruction - they're going to have to shut down the Opera until the opening night of _Genius's Mistake_. And that will make even more people come as well, since it will have been closed for such a long time."

He nodded. "All right. I'll tell them. Shall I refer to you as 'The Phantom'?"

"I suppose that's all right." She opened the mirror. "Now go. I shall see you in... oh, let's say... two weeks."

He stepped through the mirror. "Two weeks. I shall be here. Goodbye, Christine."

"Goodbye, Cameron." She started to close the mirror.

"Christine, wait."

She stopped. "Yes?"

He gazed at her for a moment. "It was good to see you again, Christine."

She smiled. "I feel the same about you. Goodbye." Then she closed the mirror and started walking back down to her lair.


	36. Chapter 35: Competition

Christine sat in her lair two weeks later, waiting impatiently for when it would be time to go get Cameron. She'd been very bored without him.

She pulled out her pocketwatch and glanced at it. It was 3:45 P.M.. Rehearsals for _Genius's Mistake_ would be finished for the day in fifteen minutes. Then Cameron would soon arrive in the dressing room, and she would be able to take him down with her, back to her world.

She took a deep breath. "Fifteen minutes, Christine," she murmured to herself. "Fifteen more minutes before you see him... calm down; you can survive that much longer."

Then, after a moment, she turned impatiently towards the piano and started playing to pass the time.

**_After rehearsal for _Genius's Mistake_, Emilie came into the dressing room with the mirror, where I was putting on my cloak. She saw what I was doing and looked disappointed - and angry._**

**_"You're going back to her, aren't you?" she demanded crossly. "I was hoping that you might change your mind and come back to me! Then we could... oh, I don't know... _get married**

_**I sighed and walked over to her, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Emilie, darling, I want to see her again," I said. "Besides, no one else but Jannes visits her. I'm sure she gets quite lonely."**_

_**"Tell me where she lives, Cameron! I demand to be told!"**_

_**I shook my head. "Where Christine lives is no concern of yours. Besides, it wouldn't be safe for you to go down to her alone and uninvited. You'd be most unwelcome. And you and I both know that she'd kill you without a qualm of conscience, no matter what our relationship is."**_

_**"Is that why you're going back to her?" she asked. "So that she doesn't kill me because you won't see her? Because if she's threatening you with my life -"**_

_**"No, she's not," I assured her. "I believe that Christine would rather die than do something that would harm me."**_

**_"Then _why_ do you go to wherever she lives to see her? _What_ is it about her that makes you go back there to her?"_**

_**"She's my friend, Emilie."**_

_**She nodded and looked at me rather suspiciously. "Are you in love with her?" she demanded.**_

_**"No, darling," I sighed. Honestly, I was starting to get rather tired of Emilie constantly asking me that question. It's as though she thinks that Christine can come between us! "No... I love you. Now go on. I'll see you in a few days."**_

_**After staring at me for a moment, she walked out of the dressing room, closing the door behind her.**_

_**I stood there for a moment, making sure that she was gone, and then walked over to the mirror and knocked on it.**_

_**When it opened, I smiled and stepped inside, waiting to be transported down to Christine's world.**_

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A few days later, Christine and Cameron sat in her lair, doing something to occupy themselves while enjoying each other's company.

Christine stopped writing in her journal and looked down at Cameron, who was sitting on the floor in front of her, reading a book. "Cameron," she finally said, "may I ask you something?"

"Sure," Cameron murmured, still reading his book. "What is it?"

"Tell me, Cameron... is your fiancee jealous of me?"

He glanced up from his book at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," she said, shrugging, "you normally chatter about her incessantly, speaking her name as though it were a prayer, when you're down here. You haven't done that since you last came back down here."

He sighed, marked the page that he was on, and closed his book. "Yes," he admitted. "Yes, she's jealous of you... she constantly asks me if I'm in love with you."

She drew in her breath sharply. "And what do you say?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"I say 'No'. I tell her that you're only my friend, which is true."

"Oh," she murmured, trying not to sound disappointed. "But she thinks that you're in love with me?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Hmm. Are you upset with her at the moment? Is that why you haven't spoken about her?"

"Yes... why do you want to know?"

She shrugged casually. "Well, I was just wondering. After all, we're friends, right?"

"Right." Then he opened his book and started to read again.

She pretended to start writing in her journal again, and then glanced down at him and smiled secretly.

Then she started writing again.

_Apparently, Emilie Chastain feels threatened by me! She thinks that Cameron is in love with me! (It's too bad that he doesn't... either that or he won't admit it.)_

_Well... then no quarter on either side, Emilie Chastain! You may have beauty, but you don't have my knowledge or my voice. And with those very things, I shall steal your fiance from you!_

_I shall use your jealousy - and my talents - to my advantage!_

_Yes, there shall be a wedding soon... with a slight change of cast in the role of the bride!_


	37. Chapter 36: Make You Love Me

**A/N #1: All right, for those of you just _begging_ for a little C/C (Cameron/Christine; duh) action, this chapter's for you! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _My Immortal_ by Evanescence. I just had it so that Christine was the original composer of it.**

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_Damn it - they've made up! They're talking again! I hate it! Emilie Chastain - how I hate her!_

_From the shadows of Box Five I observe her with stony - eyed contempt. She's just prancing about onstage, dancing and singing like she's some stupid floozy showgirl! It's a though she knows that I'm watching her, and she's trying to make me jealous!_

_It's quite clear to me, once again, that Cameron is, in fact, in love with her, which I couldn't see when we first met. He once more chatters about her incessantly, speaks her name as though it were a prayer, completely and blissfully unaware that each time he starts talking about her again, my hope of ever winning him over sinks a little lower._

_But there are times when I make him forget about her, like when I tell him a story. Then he gets all starry - eyed and gazes up at me from his self - assigned place on the floor in front of me._

_And then there's the times that I lower myself and do things that make me look like a complete fool. Honestly, in hindsight, I get rather ashamed of the idiotic things I do to amuse him! But then... to see him smile, to hear him laugh, to know that _I_ am the reason that he's happy, makes it all worth it._

_Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be winning him over yet..._

_Damn you, Emilie Chastain!_

About a week after Cameron returned to Christine, Christine announced, "Francois is coming down tonight, and we're all going to take supper together in a civilized manner."

Cameron looked rather surprised. He'd never seen Francois in the lair before. "Did you invite him?"

"No, actually. He insisted that we all get together and eat - although he doesn't know that _you're_ here; he thinks it's just me." She shrugged. "But I suppose it's all right... unless, of course," she continued, trying to be appeasing, "you'd prefer that he not come."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, I'm fine with it."

She nodded. "All right. Good. Then we'll all get together tonight at about seven - he said he'd be here by then."

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Later that night, at seven o'clock sharp, Francois arrived in the lair, dressed in a nice outfit and toting a bouquet of roses for Christine.

Christine, who was wearing a sky - blue dress that she'd made herself and had her black wavy hair pulled back into a shining silver clip, approached him. "Francois! How good of you to come, _mon ami_."

Francois nodded and embraced her. "How are you, my dear?"

"I'm wonderful, thank you." She broke away from him and motioned to the roses. "Are those for me?"

He smiled and handed them to her. "You know they are. Here."

"Thank you," she said, taking them from him and going into the kitchen to put them in a vase.

When she'd vanished into the kitchen, he sat himself on the sofa. Then he heard a noise and looked up.

Cameron stepped out of his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Then he started walking over to the sofa and looked up. He saw Francois gaping at him. "Oh, hello, Jannes!" he said brightly, smiling.

"_Monsieur_ Luc," Francois said rather nervously, rising and extending his hand to Cameron. "Christine did not tell me that you were here."

Cameron shook Francois's hand. "Well, the more, the merrier, right?" He sat down on the piano bench as Francois sat back down on the sofa. "So how are you, Jannes? I don't get the chance to speak to you much, I'm afraid."

"I'm doing quite all right, _Monsieur_ Luc." Francois paused and sighed. "I should have known that you were here... it explains why I haven't seen you around rehearsal for a week."

"Oh, they're still rehearsing without me there?"

"They must. It is the only way to possibly have everything at least cold - read by the end of this month, which is their ultimate goal."

"Ah." Cameron nodded. "I see."

Just then, Christine arrived back in the main part of the lair with a tray of tea, teacups, and saucers. "Here we go," she said, placing the tray down on the table. "Here's some Russian tea for us."

"Thank you, Christine dear," Francois said, pouring some tea into a cup for himself and sipping the tea. Then he placed the cup back down and continued, "So, Christine, you forgot to mention that _Monsieur_ Luc would be joining us tonight."

She shrugged. "Well, old friend, I did not think that one more person would hurt. As is said, 'the more, the merrier'!"

Cameron nodded. "It's true."

She rose from where she'd been squatting on the floor while drinking her tea and walked over to the piano bench. "Excuse me, Cameron."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Cameron said, scooting over a bit so that she could sit down. Then he turned back to face Francois.

As she started tuning the piano, Francois leaned in closer to Cameron, who followed suit and leaned in closer to him. "_Monsieur_ Luc," he said in a quiet, hurried voice, "if she is keeping you here... if she is holding you against your will..."

Cameron shook his head. "No, Jannes, she is not forcing me to stay here. I am here because I want to be here. She allows me to come and go of my own free will."

Christine, who had the ears of a cat, had heard what Francois had said to Cameron and turned around to face the two of them. After shooting Francois a look of pure venom that would have made Erik proud, she looked at Cameron, smiled, and said, "Would you like me to play for you, Cameron?"

Cameron nodded and smiled. "Oh, yes, please! Won't you play something from _Genius's Mistake_?"

She shook her head. "I am afraid that that is the one thing I cannot play for you, Cameron. You must only hear _Genius's Mistake_ above the ground, during rehearsal. But I shall play something else of my own composition, if you wish."

"All right," Cameron said. "Then please play something of your own for me. I love the music that you write."

"Well, thank you." She turned back to the piano and thought about what to play. Then she started playing the introduction to one of her songs that she'd written.

After a moment, she started to sing.

_I'm so tired of being here,_

_Oppressed by all my childish fears._

_And if you have to leave,_

_I wish that you would just leave,_

_'Cause your presence still lingers here,_

_And it won't leave me alone..._

_These wounds won't seem to heal_

_This pain is just too real_

_There's just too much that time cannot erase_

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears,_

_When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears,_

_And I held your hand through all of these years,_

_But you still have all of me..._

Cameron stared at her, fascinated by her talent, for a moment. "Wow," he breathed. "That was wonderful, Christine. Was that all of the song, though?"

She shook her head. "No. But did you like it?"

"Yes."

"Good." She turned to Francois. "What about you, Francois? Did you like it?"

Francois stared at her for a moment, understanding the meaning of the song to Christine and Cameron. Then he said quietly, "Christine, may I speak to you for a moment, please... in private?"

She nodded, looking rather confused. "Well, I suppose so." She motioned Cameron towards his bedroom door. "Cameron, could you please go into your room while Francois and I talk?"

Cameron nodded and rose. "Certainly." Then he walked into his room and closed the door. But, little did Christine or Francois know, he stood close by the door and pressed his ear against the door and listened.

Francois rose and walked over to her. He grabbed her arm rather abruptly. "Christine, do you realize what you're doing?" he demanded, sounding rather nervous and irritated.

She stared down at his hand on her arm, as though surprised by the way that he'd grabbed her. "What?" she asked, looking up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You're getting yourself into this way over your head," he said quietly. "This is a dangerous game that you're playing, and if you don't stop soon, you're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble, and you're going to regret it."

"I'm not getting myself into any kind of trouble," she snapped. "And I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," he said. "You may love him, but he's got another young woman on his mind. You must be mad!"

Behind his bedroom door, Cameron's eyes widened. _Love?_ Christine was in love with him? Impossible! He pressed his ear against the door, intrigued. This had to be impossible.

"He won't for long," he heard Christine say determinedly. "I'll have him fall in love with me. And even if he doesn't love me now, I'll _make_ him love me. He _will_ love me."

"You can't do that!" Francois shouted suddenly. "You can't _make_ someone fall in love with you, Christine... things don't work that way! You're so naive about these sort of things that it's ridiculous! He doesn't love you, and he won't ever love you, can't you see that, Christine? _He doesn't love you!_"

She stared at him, stunned. Then she pried his hand off of her arm. "I want you to get out," she said quietly, sounding extraordinarily calm. "I want you to leave my house, Francois - now."

"But -"

"Go!" she shouted. "I don't want you meddling in my affairs any longer! Now go... go and don't come back until I tell you that you may, understand? Leave!"

"Fine," he said crossly, stepping back from her. "But when you fail miserably, and you need someone to talk to, then I won't be around to comfort you. Remember that." Then he turned and walked out of the lair through the exit leading to the barns.

She stared out at the lake for a moment, angry. Then she turned around and walked over to the piano bench, then sat and started to write.

_This will not fail. I won't let it fail!_

_Emilie Chastain, you will curse the day that you laid eyes on Cameron and fell in love with him!_

Little did she know, right at that moment, Cameron was sitting at the desk in his bedroom, writing on a piece of notepaper, at the same time.

_**I just learned some most unwelcome information.**_

_**Christine is in love with me. She loves me! How did I not know that, for the past eight months? How?**_

_**Still, no matter... I shan't discuss it with her. I don't love her, I never will, and I shall never leave Emilie. That is for sure.**_

_**She is my friend, and nothing more, and she never will be anything more.**_

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**A/N # 2: Ooohhh... so Cameron says he won't ever love Christine! What do you think? Let me know! (But it won't affect the way I write the rest of the story.)**

**A/N: Just in case you didn't know, earlier in the story, when Francois and Cameron were discussing _Genius's Mistake_ rehearsal and Francois talked about getting all of it 'cold - read' by the end of that month (which is February, in case you were curious), he was talking about 'cold reading', which is a theatre term meaning reading a play for the first time without rehearsing it first.  
**


	38. Chapter 37: The First Time You're Told

**A/N #1: Okay, here's some more C/C action. Nothing fluffy, though... angsty and dramatic kinda stuff, really.**

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A week later, Christine and Cameron sat in her lair together, reading seperate books and every so often talking about random things.

Christine read La Prisonniere once again. She was already halfway done with it, and she'd only started reading it again earlier that day. She flipped a new page every few minutes.

Cameron read Du Cote De Chez Swann, which was the first volume of La Recherche Du Temps Perdu. Christine had gotten him into the series about a week ago, and now he was intrigued.

Christine finished La Prisonniere and closed it, sighing. Then she glanced down at Cameron, who was - once again - sitting in front of her on the floor. "Cameron, do you not like being down here with me?" she suddenly asked.

Cameron glanced up from his book. "What makes you say that?" he asked, turning his attention back to his book again.

"Well," she began, "ever since Francois came last week, you've hardly said a word to me. Are you wishing to go back up? It's been three weeks, you know."

He closed his book and shrugged. "Well... I don't know," he said slowly. "I mean, I like being down here with you, but then there are times when I get so confused by things that happen down here."

"What kind of things?" she asked, feeling herself stiffen.

"Never mind," he said, waving it away. "It's just that you... oh, I don't even know. You say things and do things that are so odd."

"Like what?" She gazed down at him, intrigued.

"Well, one day, we somehow got on the topic of science, and when I talked about how cruel science could be, you said, 'Science is never as cruel as love.' It was rather unusual. What made you say that?"

She shrugged. "Love is cruel."

"See, look!" he said, pointing at her. "There's another thing - you dismiss things when I try asking you about them, like you just did! It's so peculiar! Why do you do that?"

"Maybe I don't want to talk about them." She felt her left hand twitch - she was starting to get angry with him. She clenched her left hand into a fist in an effort to control her temper.

"Well, don't do it. It's annoying."

That made her snap. "Annoying?" she snapped, throwing down her book and standing up. "You think that _I'm_ annoying? Well, you ought to listen to yourself talk about Emilie Chastain!"

He stood up, placing down his book. "Well, why shouldn't I talk about her?" he demanded. "I love her!"

"Why?" she cried out, clenching both of her hands into fists now. "How? How can you love her, for all the trouble that she gives you that you talk about? She doesn't even _trust_ you, Cameron! She _doubts_ your loyalty to her! So I ask you, how can you love her and not love -" She stopped short and stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words.

"How can I not love who? _You?_"

Her eyes widened in alarm. "What makes you think that I would say that?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He laughed. "What makes me think that you would say that?" he said. "Now, really, Christine, do you think that I'm that deaf and stupid? Jannes has a very loud voice when he shouts, you know."

Her face went pale. Then he continued.

"Oh, yes, I know your little secret... I know all about it! Of course, I'm sure that you can't help loving me... what is it that you say your father used to say? Oh - 'None of us can choose where we will love.' So I suppose that that works for your feelings for me."

She swallowed hard. Then she drew herself up to full height, which was as tall as his nose. "Yes, I suppose it does work," she said softly. "So I'll ask you again... how can you love Emilie Chastain, for all the trouble that she supposedly is, and not love me?"

He was silent for a moment, staring at her. Then, suddenly, he felt some sort of unexplained anger explode in him.

"How can I not love you?" he shouted. "_How can I not love you?_ You already know the answer to that, Christine! Look at you - look at your face! God, it's... I don't even know! 'Hideous' doesn't do it justice! But you're not attractive, not in the least bit! I hate your face! I hate your stupid opera... I hate your bloody music! I only come down here because I feel sorry for you, don't you know that, you stupid monster? I hate the sight of you, with your mask and your eyes and everything else! I hate the sound of you, your voice that sounds like a choir of angels all on its own! I hate the sight and the sound of you, with your devil's face and your angel's voice! I hate you; are you so vain and stupid that you can't comprehend that? _I hate you!_"

He watched as she seemed to shrivel up and die right in front of him. Whatever she had been a few moments before was now gone, and now she was back to what she truly was - a teenage girl who was being told by someone that she loved that she was hated.

He watched as tears sprang into her grey - green eyes, and then she continued to stare at him hopelessly as she lowered herself down from her actual height by starting to slouch.

She turned away from him and placed a hand on the piano, as though steadying herself. Then she covered her mouth with her other hand and made an effort to control herself.

After taking several deep breaths, she placed her hand down from off of her mouth.

"Cameron," she said, as civilized and gentle as every other time she spoke to him, "I'd be very much obliged if you simply... went to bed now. It's been quite a long day, and I'm sure you're tired. I'll see you in the morning."

He opened his mouth to express the slight remorse that he was now starting to feel, but then decided that he didn't want to provoke her, so he wordlessly walked into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

She continued to stand there for a moment after he shut the door, and then walked over to where her cloak was hung up, grabbed it, and placed it on over her shoulders. Then she walked over to the gondola, stepped on, grabbed the rowing rod, and rowed away.

When she was sure that she was a safe enough distance away, she stopped rowing, allowing the gondola to glide across the lake, rested her head on her rowing arm, and started to sob.

_"I hate you!"_

_The first time that someone says those words and directs them towards you, especially if it's someone that you care deeply about, you feel as though you've just been punjabbed a thousand times. Well, actually, it feels a lot worse then that._

_Cameron told me that he hated me tonight. Oh, God... he hates me! How does one handle that calmly?_

_Quite honestly, I'm shocked that I didn't kill him. I've killed men for far less than what I meekly took from Cameron. I suppose it's because 'none of us can choose where we will love...'_

_Did I think that he was going to fall in love with me? Did I? How idiotic! I was a fool to believe... a damned fool! Why did I let this go on for so long? Why didn't I listen to Francois that night at supper?_

_Well, it's no matter... I won't let him see me any more after tomorrow, when I take him back to the above world, where he quite obviously wants to be. I'll make them stop production on _Genius's Mistake_; I'll have everything disappear... I can make anything disappear, if I really want to._

_Actually, I can't make the hurtful words that he said to me disappear._

Stupid monster.

I hate the sight of you, with your mask and your eyes and everything else.

I hate the sound of you, your voice that sounds like a choir of angels all on its own.

I hate you!

_I'll never forget that he ever said those things. Especially not 'stupid monster'. Strange... I didn't think Cameron capable of saying such cruel things to anyone! My God, half the time, he looks like he doesn't know how to say 'Boo' to a goose!_

_Of course, I didn't think about a lot of things... like the possibility that he might hate me._

_I just wasn't thinking at all, actually._

_Well, I'm through being the idiot; I'm through being the fool; I'm through being the 'stupid monster'. I'm through with him!_

_When I take him back above tomorrow, that shall be the last time I ever see him... ever! There is no going back this time; there is no wavering resolution. No more of this! No more!_

_I'll go back to my solitude, my music, and my morphine... and I won't leave them ever again!_

_One can't totally rely on people, you see, but you can always rely on things! Yes... I can always trust morphine. It will help me forget... for a little while, at least. But then I just use more morphine for when I start to remember!_

_And maybe, just maybe, I can have Francois back. Dear Francois... my dear friend who will never, never leave me, no matter what he may say. Hello, Francois!_

_Goodbye, Cameron Luc... goodbye forever!_

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**A/N #2: Ooohhh... intense! -plays doom music- But will she be a 'fool' and take him back - _again_? Tell me what you think! (No, it won't affect my writing!)**


	39. Chapter 38: Make Up, Break Up

The next morning, Cameron woke up, feeling rather heavy - hearted. He felt bad about hurting Christine the night before, and he knew for a fact that he had hurt her.

After letting out a remorseful sigh, he stood up and started fishing through his dresser, looking for a new set of clothes to wear that Christine had bought for him. As he got dressed and looked around, he felt even more guilty about hurting her, because he could tell by looking at his surroundings how hard she had worked to prepare for his arrival on that first night that they'd met. Now he'd called her a 'stupid monster'.

When he was dressed, he walked out of his bedroom and looked around the lair, which appeared empty and was deathly silent.

"Christine?"

He heard footsteps coming from somewhere in the lair, and then, suddenly, Christine came into view. She was fully dressed in black, and her eyes were so bloodshot that he could see that she'd been crying, even though she wasn't all that close to him.

A feeling of intense remorse went through him. "Christine -"

She put up a hand to silence him as she stepped up to him. "Come on," she said, sounding rather stern, as she had when he'd only known her as the Angel of Music. "We're leaving." She started to walk to where her cloak was hung up.

"But I haven't eaten -"

"I don't care!" she snapped, turning on her heel and facing him. She glared at him contemptuously for a moment, her arms crossed. "Unless you wish to irritate me, you'd better come on - _now_."

Without another word, he followed her as she walked over to where her cloak was hung up. Then she put on her cloak and stepped onto the gondola. When he stepped on, she grabbed the rowing rod and rowed away.

They rowed in silence for about five minutes, and then he tried talking to her, thinking that perhaps she was in a slightly better mood. "Listen, Christine -"

"What in God's name could you _possibly_ want now?" she shouted. "Don't you understand that I don't want to talk to you right now? My God, what more could you possibly take from me? You've taken my heart and my mind; what else could you take from me?"

"I - I'm sorry," he stammered, bowing his head. Then he subsided into silence.

Letting out a huffy sigh, she continued rowing until they reached the passageway. Then she stepped off of the gondola and started to walk off, not even waiting for him to get out. He quickly got out and started walking beside her.

When they reached the mirror, she opened it and stood there, her arms crossed, waiting for him to step out into the dressing room. He didn't move.

"Well, go!" she said crossly. "I don't want you coming here ever again, understand? I never want to see you again, Cameron Luc... never! So go... go off with your fiancce and have your stupid little wedding if you so desire. My God, you can even leave the Opera! You're free of the 'stupid monster' now. Now you can get married and raise little blonde - haired children with your stupid floozy!"

His eyes widened. "Christine -"

"_Don't talk to me!_" she screamed, pointing out into the dressing room. "_Get out!_"

He gazed at her sadly for a moment, then finally sighed resignedly and walked out of the mirror. Then he looked at her for a moment. She stared at him so stonily when she didn't say anything else that he shrunk and then started to walk out of the dressing room, closing the door behind him.

She stood there, totally devoid of emotion, for about ten minutes, trying to ensure that he was gone. Then she stepped into the dressing room, closed the mirror, and walked over to the door. She opened it and walked out of the dressing room, determined to go in search of Francois.

She made her way up to the flies, risking discovery with complete indifference. All she cared about was finding Francois and trying to make up with him.

Just as she'd expected, there Francois was, standing in the flies, observing rehearsal on stage and ever so often moving sceneries up and down. When he heard a noise come from the stage, he looked down at the stage and saw Cameron there. He laughed a little and shook his head.

She gazed at him silently for a moment, practically overjoyed to see him. "Francois..."

He glanced in her direction as he pulled up a scenery and tied it up. "Well, well, well," he said, sounding rather scornful. "If it isn't _mademoiselle le fantome_. How kind of you to grace us with your presence."

"Francois," she sighed, "please... just listen to me. There are some things that I need to say."

"Oh, really? Then be done with it!"

She looked down at the floor for a moment, trying to find the right words. Then she glanced up at him, where he stood, watching her intently. "I was wrong, Francois," she began. "I was wrong; you were right... you were right about Cameron. He doesn't love me. He told me last night that -" She stopped short, tears filling her eyes at the memory of the night before.

He gazed at her intently. "Go on," he said gently, sounding as though they were talking like the week before, before they'd gotten into the fight.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather up the strength to finish. Then she looked up at him tearily. "He told me last night that he hates me," she whispered. "He said that he hates me, Francois. He hates me."

"Oh, my dear," he said gently, taking her into his arms after another moment. "Oh, no... I'm so sorry."

She buried her face in his vest and started to cry. "He shouted at me," she sobbed. "He called me 'not attractive in the least bit'... he said that he hates the sight and sound of me... he called me a 'stupid monster'."

"He _what_?" he gasped, pulling her away from him for a moment. "I don't think I heard you correctly... you said that he called you a 'stupid monster'?"

"Yes," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He called me a 'stupid monster'." Then she started to cry again.

"Oh, no," he murmured, pulling her back into his embrace and kissing the top of her head. "Oh, my poor dear... Christine... _nobody_ should ever say that to you... he has no right to say such terrible, wicked things." He smiled in spite of himself. "I suppose that now wouldn't be a very good time to say 'I told you that this would happen'."

"Oh, please don't, Francois... not now." She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes, smiling up at him. "I'm so lucky to have a friend like you, Francois... I knew that I would be able to come back to you. I'm sorry about how horrid I've been about this whole Cameron mess. Do you forgive me?"

He nodded and kissed her forehead. "Yes, my dear. I forgive you. Would you like me to come to supper tonight?"

"Oh, please do. I'd like that very much." She pulled out her pocketwatch. "Now I've got to go... I shall see you tonight. Oh, by the way, could you please tell everyone that I do not wish for them to continue _Genius's Mistake_?"

"Certainly. I'll see you tonight."

She nodded, smiled, and walked back down to her lair.

_Cameron is gone; Francois is back._

_And you know what? I''ve never felt happier._


	40. Chapter 39: Watch It Burn

**A/N: Okay, I gave this chapter two names. It's either called 'Watch It Burn' or 'Letting Go'. You can call it whichever you choose, but it's basically about Christine getting rid of everything Cameron - ish in her lair.**

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A month later, Francois came to visit Christine in her lair.

When he first arrived, he didn't see her. He knew, however, that she wasn't gone, because the gondola was still on the shore of the lake. He glanced around. "Christine?"

"I'm in here!" he heard her reply.

"Where is 'here'?"

"Cameron's old room."

He rose and walked over to Cameron's room. He then saw her standing at Cameron's dresser, pulling out his clothes. Other things were scattered along the floor.

"What on earth are you in _here_ for?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't think you wanted anything more to do with _Monsieur_ Luc."

She tossed Cameron's shirts onto the floor and closed the drawer. "I don't. That's exactly why I'm in here... I'm getting rid of all of his clothes, his papers... everything of his besides furniture."

He nodded. "Very good, dear. I'm proud of you. What exactly do you plan on doing with all of his items, then?"

"Follow me, and you'll find out." She picked up the pile of Cameron's items that she'd thrown onto the floor and walked out into the main part of the lair. He followed her.

Then she dropped all of Cameron's items onto the floor and stood there for a moment. She sighed. "All right - let's get this over with."

She walked over to one of the many candleabras and picked up one of the candles, which was lit. Then she walked back over to the main part of the lair, where Cameron's items were. She took a deep breath, then dropped the candle onto the items.

His eyes widened. "Wow, Christine," he murmured. "I didn't have any idea that you'd ever do such a thing -"

"If I plan on getting rid of these bloody things, I can't think of a better way to do it than to burn them." She stared at the fire, a slow smile starting to come to her face. Then she closed her eyes and titled her head back, sighing happily. "This is wonderful... I'm not going to need any of those items again; Cameron's never coming here again."

He nodded. "Good for you, dear. I'm glad that you're letting go of all of this mess."

She smiled and sighed. "Me, too."


	41. Chapter 40: Sleep Your Pain Away

**A/N: ****Happy Independence Day to all the Americans out there (myself included)! -tosses confetti-**

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_**Two months... two months of Heaven, two months of Hell, two months of anger, frustration, sadness, self - hatred, love... two months without Christine. Two bloody months!**_

_**And the truth is that these past two months without Christine have felt so empty. I haven't felt this empty and upset since the last time she was gone, for six months. Nothing can make me feel better about this - no, not even Emilie.**_

_**Of course, just as I should have expected, Emilie didn't share in my self - loathing and grief. The second I told her that Christine was most likely gone permanently, she gave a shout of joy, grabbed my arms, and forced me to spin around with her. I think that, if she had only been stong enough, she would have picked me up in her arms and spun me around.**_

_**"I don't see why you're not as happy as I am, Cameron," she said when she'd gotten over her rather distressing mirth. "She's gone for good! We can finally get married! Isn't that what you want?"**_

_**I sighed and placed my hands on her arms. "Emilie, darling, I don't think that you quite understand the enormity of my crime. I told her I hated her. I called her a 'stupid monster'!"**_

_**"Well, she is a stupid monster!" she retorted. "You were quite right to call her that."**_

**_I tightened my grip on her shoulders and shook her so savagely that I could hear her teeth chattering. "Don't you _dare_ call her that!" I snapped furiously. "You have no right... _I_ have no right!"_**

_**Then, without another word, I turned and walked away from her.**_

"Christine!" called out Francois as he stepped into her lair a month after Christine burned Cameron's items. "Christine, I know you're in here!"

He heard a soft moan come from underneath the piano. "Mmm..."

"Christine?" he said, raising his eyebrows. Then he walked over to the main part of the lair and looked underneath the piano.

He saw Christine curled up underneath the piano, covered up with a blanket. She had, apparently, been sleeping. She smiled sleepily at him and rubbed her eyes. "Hi, Francois."

"What on earth are you doing down here, darling?" he said, grabbing her arm and helping her out from underneath the piano. "Have you been down there all night?"

"Yes. I slept there... I took some morphine, you see, and then was too tired to go over to my bed. So I walked over to my bed, grabbed my blanket, and walked back over to the piano and slept under there."

"How brutally honest of you," he sighed. "You're taking morphine again, you just said... well, I suppose being a morphine addict is better than associating yourself with _Monsieur_ Luc. By the way, it might interest you in the slightest to know that _Monsieur_ Luc had been wandering around the chapel and the dressing room with the mirror after rehearsals - they want to continue _Genius's Mistake_, by the way -, calling your name like some sort of lost child calling for his mother."

She shrugged. "Why would I care?" she replied with indifference. "I don't care about him."

Judging by how hastily she looked away from him, he knew that she wasn't telling the whole truth. He turned her around to face him. "Christine," he said slowly, "I certainly hope that you don't plan on letting him come back to you."

She glanced up at him. "Of course not!" she scoffed, straightening herself up to full height. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know. You just saw how I reacted to you telling me that he went around, calling for me - complete indifference!" Then she paused, her eyes widening. "_Indifference_," she said slowly, smiling at him. "I showed indifference to Cameron, Francois!"

"Very good, dear," he sighed. "Now, if you can keep this up for more than six months, then I'll give you a box of sweets."

"Ha," she said mockingly. "Very funny." She stretched, yawning. "Now I think I'm going back to sleep... I'm tired." She started to crawl underneath the piano again.

He grabbed her arm. "You're not going to sleep under the piano," he said, sounding very much like a father all of a sudden. "It's bad for your back." He led her over to the swan bedroom - which was her bedroom - and placed her down on the bed. Then he covered her up with a blanket. "Good night - well, good whatever time of day it is."

She yawned. "Good night." Then she curled up and fell asleep.


	42. Chapter 41: The Joys Of Being Fifteen

**A/N: Okay, this is where the upped rating starts to come in. Our dear Christine is starting to get hormones! MWAHAHA!**

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_I hate this! I hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate being in love with Cameron... I hate him hating me... I hate Emilie Chastain... I hate wanting Cameron... _I hate it all!

_It's amazing to me, actually... I thought that I was over Cameron, but, for the past three months that I've been without him, I've only realized how much I love him and how much I want him._

_I know it sounds utterly disgusting coming from a fifteen - year - old deformed freak living underneath an opera house, but... _I want him!

_But I'm trying to get rid of my wicked wanting. I scream at myself every few hours... I curl up into a ball and wish that I would die... I withold my morphine until I'm a shaking wreck..._

_But I still want him..._

I hate this!

Christine stood in Box Five one day, observing rehearsal for _Genius's Mistake_, which was going on on the stage. Everything seemed to be going well so far - as far as she could see.

Then, suddenly, she saw Cameron singing one of the songs with Marie, Emilie's sister and the lead female role, in the center of the stage. It was then that everything started going wrong for her.

Sheer animal hunger starting going through her. She shuddered. Then she clenched her hands into fists in an effort to control herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She then felt a hand come down on her shoulder and let out a cry, turning around and expecting the worst.

"My God, Christine," Francois exclaimed, "it's only me. Whatever is the matter? You looked like something was wrong with you, so I came over to you. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, Francois," she sighed with unmistakable relief, patting him on the shoulder. "Francois... no, I'm not all right... but no matter." She glanced down at the stage worriedly, silently hoping that Cameron hadn't seen her. Then she turned back to Francois. "I must go. See you tonight?"

"I - I suppose," he stammered, confused by her odd behavior. "Are you sure that you don't need help? Do you feel ill?"

"I suppose that I am ill, in a way. I'll see you tonight at dinner."

Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked off, back down to her lair, leaving him standing in Box Five alone.

_**I saw Christine in Box Five today.**_

_**She was observing rehearsal... I think. But she acted rather strange when I happened to look up and see her. Her eyes were closed, she was trembling, and her hands were clenched into fists.**_

_**What was wrong with her?**_

_**Well, whatever it was, I hope she's all right now.**_


	43. Chapter 42: Clueless Cameron

Three months later, Cameron stood on the stage in the Opera, looking around to see if he could see Christine. He'd missed her terrbily since the last time he'd seen her three months ago. He wondered if her absence had anything to do with what had been wrong with her the last time he'd seen her.

Then he saw Francois in the flies and ran off of the stage, up to the flies, to talk to Francois about Christine.

He grabbed Francois's arm urgently. "Jannes."

"Ah, well... if it isn't _Monsieur_ Luc," said Francois, his voice coldly polite. "And what is it that you want now? If you'd like to talk to Christine and beg her to take you back, so that you may break her heart once more, then you're incredibly out of your mind. I won't help you."

Cameron sighed. "Jannes, please... I really need to speak to her. I need to apologize to her about what I've done. I feel awful, truly I do. Please have her find me so that I can talk to her?"

"No." Francois turned on his heel and started to walk away.

Cameron grabbed his arm again. "Jannes!"

"For God's sake, leave the girl alone!" Francois shouted, whirling back around to face him. "You're driving her out of her mind; you're making her go insane! We're both going out of our minds beccause of you... she could have killed you for what you did, did you know that, _Monsieur_ Luc?"

Cameron's eyes widened. "She wouldn't hurt me... I know she'd never hurt me!"

Francois crossed his arms and sighed impatiently. "Then you know nothing about her; absolutely nothing! Doing what you did shattered her soul and provoked her beyond all human endurance. You really are fortunate that she didn't do you great harm."

Then, without waiting for a reply, Francois turned and walked away.

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**A/N: I'm sorry that these chapters are so short... I'm just trying to speed through this (how horrible!)... it's 10:46 at night where I am, and I'm trying to write as much as possible. I'll slow down on timing soon, too; I promise.**


	44. Chapter 43: The Plan

**A/N: -sighs- Okay... we're gonna try and start slowing down after this chapter, I promise... as of now, we're three months away from the end of this phan fic. But don't despair! I'll try and make this story last up to 50 chapters. (I'll probably make it 50 without even trying.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom_ songs _We Have All Been Blind, _a small part of _Notes/Twisted Every Way_, or plain old _Twisted Every Way_, all of which I had to change a little to make sense. (And it's going to get really confusing, because five people are going to be singing.)**

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Two months later, Cameron, Emilie, Berrain, Erisma, and Pablo sat in the managers' office, drinking tea and talking about _Genius's Mistake_ and Christine.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm getting quite tired of this phantom business!" sighed Berrain, taking a sip of tea out of his teacup. "She's been committing so many murders for the past eight months here in the Opera - nobody in the performance, thank God - that my head is spinning!"

Emilie nodded. "I agree. I'm really quite tired of her... is there any way that you think that we could get rid of her?"

Erisma shrugged. "I haven't the slightest clue... do any of you know of anything? What about _Monsieur_ Luc?"

Everyone turned to Cameron, who shrugged and laughed, shaking his head. "Do you honestly think that you're going to get rid of her? There's no way you can... or, at least, I can't think of anything."

"Hmm," everyone seemed to murmur, then subsided into thoughtful silence for a time.

Emilie gazed at Cameron thoughtfully for a moment, then, suddenly, snapped her fingers. "I've got it!" She rose and started pacing about, singing.

_We have all been blind,_

_And yet the answer is staring us in the face..._

_This could be the chance_

_To ensnare our clever friend!_

The managers looked intrigued and scooted up more in their seats.

"We're listening," Berrain said. "Go on!"

Emilie nodded and continued.

_We shall play her game,_

_Perform her work,_

_But, remember, we hold the ace -_

_For if Monsieur Luc sings,_

_She is certain to attend!_

The managers nodded.

(Berrain) _We'll be certain the doors are barred!_

(Erisma)_ We'll be certain the police are there!_

Emilie finished,

_We'll be certain they're armed!_

Then all three sang in chorus.

_The curtain falls -_

_Her reign will end!_

Pablo, suspecting something else, rose from his seat and pointed and accusing finger at Cameron, who looked rather shocked by Emilie's new plan. He cried out:

_He's the one behind this!_

_That boy, Cameron!_

Cameron looked appalled and rose to face Pablo, looking angered. He started circling around Pablo and burst out indignantly:

_How dare you!_

_You wretched person,_

_How dare you!_

_I didn't do this -_

_I never want a part in this plot!_

Pablo looked triumphant.

_Look, he won't do it!_

The managers looked desperate and tried appealing to Cameron.

(Berrain) _But why not?_

(Cameron) _Because I can't!_

(Erisma) _We understand that,_

_But why not?_

(Cameron) _Because I won't!_

Cameron sat down in his chair, crossing his arms in a gesture of defiance. Emilie knelt down in front of him, folding her hands together.

_Please, Cameron, help us!_

(Cameron)_I won't do it, no matter what!_

(Emilie) _Cameron, Cameron,_

_Reconsider!_

Cameron shook his head and replied,

_I can't hurt her..._

And nodded downwards, towards the floor, to signify who he meant.

Emilie sighed and took his hands.

_You said yourself_

_She was nothing but a friend..._

_Yet while she lives,_

_She will haunt us till we're dead..._

Cameron gazed down at her for a moment, contemplating, as fear began to shine in his clear blue eyes. Then he sang softly:

_Twisted every way,_

_What answer can I give?_

_Am I to risk my life_

_To win the chance to live?_

_Can I betray the girl_

_Who still inspires my voice?_

_Do I become her prey?_

_Do I have any choice?_

_She kills without a thought;_

_She murders all that's good;_

_I know I can't refuse,_

_And, yet, I wish I could!_

_Oh, God, if I agree,_

_What horrors wait for me_

_In this, The Phantom's opera?_

Emilie replied:

_Cameron, Cameron,_

_Don't think that I don't care,_

_But every hope_

_And every prayer rests on you now..._

Cameron looked terrified as he rose and slowly started backing out of the managers' office, tears in his eyes. Then he finally cried out, "I can't do it! I'm sorry!"

Then he ran out of the office, sobbing.

He kept running down, down, down to where he knew that he would be free of this horrid plan...

_Christine's world._


	45. Chapter 44: The Other Man

Cameron ran down to Christine's lair, sobbing. He didn't want to go through with Emilie's horrid plan... it was horrible! If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was to hurt Christine again!

When he finally reached the passageway, where the lake was, he saw that the gondola wasn't there. Not knowing when Christine would come around, or if she would come around at all, he jumped into the lake and began to wade through it to the lair.

Chopin's _Concerto In F Minor_ being played on the piano told him that he was getting ever closer to his Angel of Music. He continued wading, sobbing hysterically, as though he'd never cried before in his life.

He saw that the gate to the lair was closed and let out a cry of desperation. Then he turned and saw a piece of land, and there was a door there, a door that he realized Francois used to get in and out of the lair without using the gondola.

He climbed up onto the piece of land and opened the door. Then he stepped inside the lair, closing it, and gazing around for a moment, still trying to quit crying.

Christine sat at the piano, finishing the song and taking no notice of him. Then she rose and walked into the kitchen and out of sight.

Bursting into tears of relief, he through the lake again until he reached the shore. Then he ran into the kitchen, where Christine stood, making herself some Russian tea with lemon.

He ran up to her and then didn't stop, therefore running right into her, and threw his arms around her, sobbing wildly.

Christine let out a cry of surprise - she hadn't seen him or heard him - and then realized who it was. _Cameron!_ Cameron was here, and he was the closest to her that he'd ever been of his own accord, and he was crying.

"Cameron!" she finally managed to exclaim when she'd gotten over her shock, hesitantly pattting him on the head. "Oh, my dear friend, don't cry like that!"

After another moment, he pulled away from her, placing his hands on her shoulders, tears streaming down his cheeks, as he started talking, trying to calm himself down. "Christine, I - I'm sorry for what I did to you... I was angry at you, and I don't know why... but I don't hate you... I don't hate you... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Christine!"

"Okay, okay," she said in a soothing tone, patting his arm reassuringly. "It's all right, Cameron... hush, now."

He took several deep breaths and finally calmed down, letting out a sigh and taking his hands off of her shoulders. "I'm okay now," he murmured, wiping his eyes and sniffling. "I'm sorry... about all of it. I'm so stupid... and now I've been acting like a baby." He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, his teeth starting to chatter. "It's a little chilly in here, don't you think?"

"You're freezing," she said, rubbing her hands on his arms in an attempt to get him warmer. "I'll get you some dry clothes and get you some tea... oh, wait, I don't have any clothes that I bought for you any more."

"Where are they?" he asked, shivering.

"I... got rid of them." She took his arm and led him over to the main part of the lair, sitting him on the sofa. "There. Now hang on, and I'll bring you out some tea... but let me get a blanket for you first." Then she vanished into his bedroom and shortly returned with a blanket.

When he had the blanket wrapped around him, she walked into the kitchen, poured some tea into a teacup, and added a slice of lemon to it. Then she placed it on a saucer and brought it back to him. She gave it to him. "There. Now... I don't imagine that you brought any extra clothes with you, by chance, in your unexplained desperate flight down here?"

"N - no," he replied, his teeth chattering still because of his soaking clothes. "D - Do you have any clean clothes, Christine? It's quite all right if you don't; I can quite easily just take my wet clothes off and wrap the blanket around myself while they dry."

"I would rather you not," she said, trying to push the thought of Cameron walking around in nothing but a blanket in her lair out of her head. "Just hang on a moment - I think I might have something..."

She went into her bedroom and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser, shuffling through the clothes to try and find something for him to wear. Then she pulled out some clothes and closed the drawer, walking back out into the main part of the lair and handing him the clothes.

"There," she said. "Those will do for now, until you can bring your clothes down here... they may be a bit big on you, but at least they're warm and dry."

He nodded. "Thank you." Then he proceeded to finish drinking his tea, staring at the clothes all the while. It struck him as odd that Christine had extra mens' garments in her lair with her.

She noticed his staring. "I see you're surprised that I have mens' garments that don't belong to you down here with me," she said rather wearily, sitting down on the piano bench. "You may safely take my word that they didn't belong to a lover! No... the man who used to wear those clothes had been dead for nearly two years."

Judging by her saddened facial expression, he could guess who that man had been.

"What was your father's name?" he asked quietly.

She glanced up at him and sighed, running a hand through her jet - black hair. "Erik."

"Erik," he murmured, glancing down at the clothes in his lap curiously. "That's a nice name. Tell me about him, Christine."

"I would rather not."

"Please!" he begged. "I must know something... do you have a likeness of him?"

She sighed resignedly and unclasped the gold locket that Erik had given her that contained her parents' pictures inside. Then she placed it down on the table. "See for yourself."

He picked up the locket and opened it, glancing at the pictures. "Wow... you look practically everything like him!" He glanced at her mother's picture again. His eyes widened. "Is that..."

"Christine Daae? Otherwise known as the late Vicomtess deChagny?" she finished. "Yes... she's my mother."

"But how -"

"You ask _how_?" she said with a short laugh. "Don't you know the stories? Haven't you heard _anything_ in your near six years with this Opera? My God, it's urban legend!"

He shook his head. "Tell me."

She sighed and rose, walking over to the desk and opening a drawer. She pulled out a stack of newspapers and closed the drawer again. Then she walked back over to him and handed him the newspapers. "Read and learn, Cameron... read and learn."

He started scanning the front pages of every newspaper, all of which bore the story of The Phantom of the Opera, his protege, Christine Daae, her lover, the Vicomte Raoul deChagny, and the Opera Populaire tragedy. Then he glanced up at her, looking astounded. "But... if your mother went with the Vicomte, then..." - he pointed at her - "how are _you_ here?"

"My father and my mother didn't know that, either," she replied, shrugging. "Just one day, forty - nine years after the events, my mother became pregnant. Nine months later, there I was, deformity and all. So my mother came back here" - she motioned around her - "and gave me to my father. Fast - forward almost sixteen years, and here we are."

"Wow," he breathed. "That's amazing. Please tell me more about your father?"

"He was really quite old," she began hesitantly, starting to look upset, "although he didn't look it. He looked the way that he does in that picture the entire time he raised me... he was somewhere in his thirties when that was taken... and he was, in actuality, somewhere in his eighties and nineties the entire time that we lived down here together - maybe he was even in his hundreds; I don't know for sure... he taught me how to sing and play piano, among other things... I'm sorry! Do you mind? I can't talk about this!"

She turned away from him, sighing sadly, tears in her eyes. She took a deep breath in order to calm herself, then wiped her eyes. "Cameron, I'd like you to go change clothes, now, please," she said rather coldly.

Without another word, he rose and walked into his room to dress, closing the door behind him.

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**A/N: -sighs- Finally... a longer chapter! Yes! -tosses confetti -**


	46. Chapter 45: The Angry Frenchman

_Damn my stupid self! Why did I take Cameron back?_

_I'm too soft... I'll never get over him, I suppose._

_Last night, I stood and watched him sleep... and I practically died from trying to control myself. It was like I wanted to torcher myself just by looking at him. Maybe I did..._

The next day, Francois came to visit Christine in her lair. He was, however, unaware that Cameron was there, so he was therefore angered and shocked to see him sitting there on the sofa when he arrived.

His eyes widened when he saw Cameron sitting on the sofa, drinking Russian tea. Then he stood there for a moment, as though paralyzed.

"You," he finally gasped, pointing at Cameron. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Cameron looked at him for a moment, then rose. "Hi, Jannes..."

Francois stared at him for a moment more, then clenched his hands into fists, angered. "_Christine!_"

Christine walked into the main part of the lair from the kitchen. "What? Hello, Francois; how are you?" Then she looked from Cameron to Francois, and everything registered. "Oh."

Without another word, Francois walked over to her, grabbed her arm roughly, and steered her into her bedroom, making her exclaim, "Oh, Francois... ouch! You're hurting me! Can you stop?"

Francois shut the door behind him with a thud. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. "You vain and stupid child, have you learned nothing from your past experiences? You had him come back to you? God, that's... stupid doesn't even describe it!"

When he was through ranting, she said quietly, "There's no need for such anger. I can assure you that I had nothing to do with Cameron's return."

"What then?" he demanded. "Explain yourself!"

She sighed. "Yesterday, he just ran down here, crying hysterically, and told me that he was sorry for what he'd done."

"Hmm... it seems that he's apologized to you for hurting you before! And what happened? _He hurt you again!_ Don't you see, Christine? He's going to keep toying with you like this, and I don't want it... I don't want to be a part of it!"

Then he stormed out of the bedroom and left the lair without waiting for a reply.


	47. Chapter 46: A Fight in the Cemetery

**A/N #1: RUUUSSSHHHIIINNNGG! Sorry - I've done it again! I'm really eager to get to the end...**

**A/N #2: Want another reason for the upped rating? This chapter is gonna get kinda gory... I warned you in advance.**

**A/N #3: When nobody was looking (or writing), Christine turned sixteen. She's been sixteen for a month in this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Phantom_ songs _Journey To The Cemetery_ (from the movie) _Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again_, and _Wandering Child_ (which I had to revise a little to make more sense - _Wishing_ and _Wandering Child_, I mean).**

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Two months later, Cameron and Emilie were at Cameron's apartment, discussing Christine.

"Why did you go back to her, Cameron?" cried out Emilie angrily. "I thought we were finished with all of this silly business! I thought we were done with her! I really do wish you'd make up your mind... why do you keep going back to her?"

Cameron shrugged. "She's my friend," he said calmly. "I don't see why you're so angry, Emilie, darling... it's as though you're jealous! Nothing can come between us! We're just friends, that's all; just friends... I'm not in love with her, despite the fact that she's in love with me. I love you. You have nothing to worry about from her."

She sighed resignedly. "When are you going to see her again?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Sometime later tomorrow," he replied. "She's going to the cemetery to visit her father's grave... he's been dead for two years tomorrow."

"Oh, _is_ she?" she said, a secret smile starting to come to her face. "Well, then, come closer... I have a plan..."

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The next morning, Christine woke up in her swan bedroom, got up, and dressed to go get ready to go visit Erik's grave in the cemetery.

When she was dressed in a black lace dress, she grabbed a handful of black - ribboned red roses and pulled her cloak on over her shoulders. Then she stepped onto the gondola and grabbed the rowing rod. Then she rowed away.

She reached the mirror about fifteen minutes later, stepped through, closed it behind her, and then walked out of the dressing room, making her way to the stables, where she would ride a carriage that she'd called for to the cemetery.

A few minutes later, she reached the stables. The carriage was waiting for her, and the man driving the carriage was seated in his spot, a hood covered over his head - to cover himself from the cold early - morning December wind, she assumed.

She held out a small bag of francs that was his payment out to him. He took it silently.

"To the cemetery, please; the west side," she said quietly, sitting herself down in her seat. Then the carriage rode away.

As the carriage drove through the woods, she started singing softly to herself:

_In sleep, he sang to me..._

_In dreams, he came..._

_That voice which calls to me_

_And speaks my name..._

Then the carriage pulled up to the west side of the cemetery as she finished. She stepped off and went through the gate as the carriage rode away.

She closed the gate behind her and starting walking through the cemetery silently, then said softly, "Two years... I'm sixteen now... and I'm an orphan... I've spent two years without my father... two years."

After another pause, she started singing.

_You were once my one companion_

_You were all that mattered..._

_You were once a friend and father -_

_Then my world was shattered..._

_Wishing you were somehow here again..._

_Wishing you were somehow near..._

_Sometimes it seemed_

_If I just dreamed,_

_Somehow you would be here..._

_Wishing I could hear your voice again,_

_Knowing that I never would..._

_Dreaming of you_

_Won't help me to do_

_All that you dreamed I could..._

_Passing bells and sculpted angels,_

_Cold and monumental..._

_Seem for you the wrong companions -_

_You were warm and gentle..._

She walked through the cemetery for short time silently before continuing.

_Too many years_

_Fighting back tears..._

_Why can't the past just die?_

_Wishing you were somehow here again..._

_Knowing we must say goodbye..._

_Try to forgive,_

_Teach me to live..._

_Give me the strength to try..._

She saw that she was starting to approach Erik's grave and walked faster.

_No more memories,_

_No more silent tears,_

_No more gazing across_

_The wasted years..._

She sat down on the steps of Erik's grave.

_Help me say goodbye..._

_Help me say goodbye..._

Then there was silence for a moment as she sat, thinking about the past two years without Erik. Tears started to fall down her cheeks.

And then there was music... a violin playing _Angel of Music_, a song that Erik had played for her when she was younger. Then a familiar male voice starting singing, soft and enticing.

_Wandering child,_

_So lost, so helpless,_

_Yearning for my guidance..._

She glanced up at the grave, surprised. She recognized that voice. She replied,

_Angel or father_

_Friend or phantom?_

_Who is it there staring?_

_(Have you forgotten your father?)_

_Father, oh, speak -_

_What endless longings_

_Echo in this whisper..._

As a light came on inside the grave, she rose as the voice continued singing.

_Too long you've wandered in winter,_

_Far from my loving gaze..._

Her eyes widened as she shook her head and sang:

_Wildly, my mind beats against you,_

_(You resist,)_

(both) _Yet the soul obeys..._

She started ascending the steps as she sang with the voice.

_Angel of Music,_

_(I/You) denied (you/me),_

_Turning from true beauty..._

_Angel of Music,_

_My dear father; (Do not shun me;)_

_Come to (me/your) strange angel..._

Then the voice continued by itself as she kept walking up the stairs, amazed. Her father... he was alive!

_I am your Angel of Music..._

_Come to me, Angel of Music..._

Then, suddenly, she heard the sound of hooves coming up behind her. She thought nothing of it until she heard the sound of a sword being removed from its belt.

She whirled around and saw Emilie, sword in hand, running up to her. Gasping, she pulled her sword - which she always carried with her for protection when she went out - out of its belt and ran down to meet her.

Their swords clashed with a _clang_ as their fight began.

Emilie seemed to have the advantage; she was a very good swordswoman and was ready to fight - and kill - Christine. She always made the advance.

Christine desperately tried to fend her off, backing away and continuing to fight her. Then she heard a soft _thud_ behind her and turned around for a second. She saw Cameron standing there, looking nervous about what was happening in front of him.

"_Cameron?_" she exclaimed, shocked. So Cameron had been the voice that she'd heard singing! He'd deceived her!

Her thoughts were interrupted by feeling a searing pain go through her stomach. She let out a cry of pain and staggered backward as she placed a hand on her wound that Emilie had given her for a moment, turning back to Emilie as she continued fighting.

Behind Christine, Cameron gasped and covered his mouth with his hand. He hadn't expected Emilie to be so violent!

Emilie, feeling more confident than ever, continued advancing on Christine, who was already bleeding heavily from her injury. Then she cut Christine on her waist, letting out a triumphant exclamation.

"_Ah!_" cried out Christine, staggering backwards again. This wasn't looking good for her.

Cameron looked terrified of his fiancee's sudden violence towards his friend. "Emilie, stop!" he protested. "Leave her alone; she's already hurt!"

Emilie ignored her fiance and continued advancing on Christine, aware that if she kept this up, she could kill Christine and be rid of her forever. She stepped forward and cut Christine across her lower chest area.

Christine let out another cry of pain and staggered back again. But she pressed on and kept trying to fend off Emilie. She wasn't going to die here!

Emilie then suddenly jumped out of sight. She was gone.

Christine panted as she made a circle, looking around for her opponent. But she didn't see her.

"Behind you, Christine!" Cameron suddenly cried out, but it was already too late.

Christine felt a hand push her down to the ground. She fell on her stomach, still holding onto her sword. She saw Emilie's shadow hovering over her.

"_No!_" Cameron screamed, seeing Emilie's intent, tears starting to fill his eyes.

Christine rolled over on her back as Emilie's sword narrowly missed the center of her back. But, then, before she could get up, Emilie stabbed her sword into Christine's right arm.

Christine screamed as Emilie grinned triumphantly and pulled her sword out of Christine's arm.

Christine rose, blood trickling down her arm, and continued fighting Emilie, wincing in pain every so often.

After steady fighting for several minutes, Emilie spun around. Her sword cut across Christine's left arm.

When Christine let out another cry of pain, Cameron cried out, sobbing, "Emilie! Stop it! You're killing her! _Stop!_"

Angry now, Christine suddenly advanced on Emilie. "That's it!" she shouted. "No more nice girl!"

Christine kept advancing on Emilie until she finally managed to push her down onto the ground. Then she kicked Emilie's sword away from Emilie's grasp, making her unarmed. She had the advantage now.

Christine raised her sword above Emilie and let out a yell of rage, preparing herself to kill Emilie with her sword, as Cameron gasped and covered his mouth with his hand, not letting out any protest.

Then, just as she was about to kill and win, Christine suddenly remembered Cameron's promise to Emilie, back when they'd first fallen in love all those months ago, on the rooftop.

_"She won't hurt you; not while I'm around."_

Somehow, no matter how much she hated Emilie, she couldn't have Cameron break that promise.

Sighing resignedly, she put down her sword and placed it in her belt. She gazed down at Emilie, who was staring up at her, amazed, for a moment. Then she let out another sigh and offered Emilie her hand to help her stand.

Emilie took her hand and rose with her help. She stared at Christine for a moment, stunned.

Cameron's eyes widened at this sudden change in events. What was going on?

Christine stared at Emilie for a moment, then bent down and picked up Emilie's sword from off of the ground. She straightened herself and handed it to Emilie.

Still staring at Christine in amazement, Emilie took her sword from her and placed it back in its belt.

After another moment of silence, Christine cocked her head to the side momentarily, towards Emilie's horse, to signify for her to go. Emilie turned and walked back to her horse, getting on it.

Christine started walking away, in Cameron's general direction, putting away her sword into its belt. She brushed past Cameron, who was gazing at her intently, stunned.

Cameron grabbed her arm to stop her. "Angel -"

She turned to him. "Go, Cameron," she said softly. "Your fiancee is waiting." She winced at the pain in her stomach and lower chest.

"But I -"

"_Go!_" she gasped in pain. "Go now and leave me!"

He gazed at her sadly for a moment, then turned and walked up to Emilie's horse, getting on in the back, wrapping his arms around Emilie, grabbed the reins, and rode off away from where Christine stood.

Christine watched them go, statring to feel enraged at her own inability to kill someone who she was sure that she would have to kill to get Cameron to be with her. She started pacing about, feeling her anger rise with each step.

She finally let out a yell of rage and whirled around to where Cameron and Emilie had ridden off a few moments before. "Now, let it be war upon you both!" she growled, then stormed off back towards the Opera.

But, after walking quickly for about five minutes, every injury that she'd just sustained sreamed out in protest. She suddenly found it hard to walk fast or to even breathe.

She pulled her sword out of its belt, placed the tip down on the ground, placed her right hand on the hilt, and started walking - more slowly than usual - back to the Opera, using the sword as a cane.


	48. Chapter 47: Take Care Of Me

When, after almost two hours of slow walking, Christine finally arrived back at the Opera, she could see her blood through the black lace of her dress. That wasn't good.

She walked through the Opera to the dressing room with the mirror, still using her sword as support, risking discovery with complete indifference. She would probably be dead when anyone found her, anyway.

When she reached the dresssing room with the mirror, she let out a sigh of relief, causing her to wince in pain at the injuries that she'd received from Emilie. She opened the mirror, stepped through to the passageway, and closed the mirror behind her.

After walking through the passageway, she finally reached the gondola, floating on the lake, waiting for her, causing her to let out another relieved sigh, inducing another wince. She stepped onto the gondola, grabbed the rowing rod, and slowly rowed away.

She soon reached the gate and smiled in spite of her pain. She was finally home... it had taken almost three hours, but she was home. The gate opened as she rowed into her lair.

Francois was there, standing by the piano, awaiting her arrival. When he saw her, he smiled and walked over to the shore of the lake, where she was rowing the gondola. Then, when he met her there, he saw the blood on her dress. "My God!" he gasped. "What happened?"

She didn't reply - or, at least, she didn't give him the reply to his question. "Oh, Francois," she sighed softly, then stepped off of the gondola. She gazed at him for a moment. Then she collapsed into his arms.

"Christine!" she heard him exclaim just before unconsciousness claimed her. "Oh, God... come on, let's get you cleaned up. Christine?"

And then there was silence and blackness.

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When Christine regained consciousness, she was lying on the sofa in her lair. Her cloak, dress, corset, and underclothes had been removed. She had bandages wrapped around her torso, she was wearing a pair of Erik's old trousers, and she was covered with a blanket.

She looked around the lair silently until she heard a noise. Then she glanced over to where the noise had come from and saw Francois. He had a tray of tea and two teacups in his hand, and his shirt was bloodstained from tending to her wounds while she'd been unconscious. He'd been with her the entire time.

Not taking any notice of her, he placed the tray down on the table. Then he wiped his hands off on his trousers and sighed.

She smiled at him for a moment, then finally spoke. "Francois..."

He turned around abruptly and let out a sigh of relief when he saw her gazing up at him, conscious. "Oh, Christine; thank God," he said softly, letting out another relived sigh as he knelt down in front of her and took her outstretched hand in his. "I was so worried about you, my dear."

"I'm all right... I think," she said quietly, managing a smile. "Thank you for coming back... and helping me... and staying with me. It means a lot." She tried sitting up slightly, but she felt searing pain run through the injuries in her stomach. "Ouch," she hissed, wincing and relaxing.

He then remembered - since he'd forgotten for a brief moment - that she was injured. "Who did this to you?" he demanded with cold fury.

"Emilie... Chastain."

"_Emilie Chastain?_" he gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "As in _Monsieur_ Luc's fiancee?"

"The same." She paused. "I was visiting my father's grave at the cemetery, and... then she came along, sword and all. We started fighting, and she cut me. Then I heard a noise from behind me and turned... Cameron was there. I'd heard a voice singing to me, you see, and... I'd been so stupid and thought it was my father. But it wasn't... it was Cameron."

He nodded. "Go on."

"So Emilie and I kept fighting while Cameron watched. Then she kept... cutting me up. Cameron was screaming at her to stop... but she didn't. I finally got so put out by her and... started fighting even harder. I knocked her down to the ground... and I kicked her sword away. Then I was about to kill her when... I remembered a promise that Cameron had made to Emilie. He'd said that I... wouldn't harm her while he was around. And I... couldn't let him break that promise; God knows why. So I... helped her up, gave her her sword back, and... told her that she and Cameron could go. So they got onto her horse and rode away. Then... I came back here." She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I could have killed her, Francois... I could have killed her, and I didn't."

"Well, then more power to you, my dear. I'm glad that you - in an odd way, admittedly - found the restraint from murder." He patted her hand. Then he rose and motioned to the tea tray. "Would you like some tea?"

She smiled. "That would be wonderful, thank you." She tried sitting up and let out a cry of pain, then relaxed and let out a sigh of frustration. "_Damn_ my own incompetence!" she said crossly, smacking her hand on her blanket.

"There's no need for profanity," he said gently, coming up behind her and placing his hands under her shoulders. "Come on, sit up - I'll help you."

She tried sitting up again with his help, wincing the entire time. Then she finally sat up, propped up against the pillow that she'd been resting her head on. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Certainly." He placed the tea tray on her lap, removing one of the teacups and pouring some tea into it. She followed suit, and then they started drinking tea.

After finishing the tea in her cup, she placed the cup on the tray and sighed. "English tea with milk, I presume."

"Yes; what's your point?"

She shrugged. "Nothing... I just prefer Russian tea with lemon. But there's nothing wrong with English tea; you make whatever kind of tea you want, Francois... it's not like I'll be up and making tea any time soon, anyway."

He smiled. "Don't be so negative. You'll be up and about before you know it."

"I hope so, but I doubt it," she sighed. She glanced back over at him. "Thank you for staying with me, Francois. You're a good friend."

"Of course, my dear... you know that I wouldn't abandon you, ever. I'm so full of it, you know... I threaten you, but I don't mean any of it, which is really quite sad. But that's the way it is, I suppose. Are you finished with your tea?"

She nodded and handed him the tea tray. "Thank you."

He took the tea tray and went into the kitchen. She heard him put them away. Then he walked back into the main part of the lair over to her. He checked his pocketwatch. "Well, my dear, it's quite late. I think you ought to go to bed."

"But I'm not - tired," she protested, yawning and stretching.

He smiled and eased her down onto the sofa. Then he covered her up with the blanket and kissed her on the forehead. "Good night, Christine," he said gently. "Sleep well."

"Good night," she sighed, closing her eyes and soon falling asleep.

When he saw that she was asleep, he smiled and walked into Cameron's room to sleep, closing the door behind him.


	49. Chapter 48: Healing

**A/N: Oh, happy news - I'm extending the story a bit! -tosses confetti- This story was supposed to end the month after this 'month' (January), but I've decided to let it run a teeny bit longer - three 'months' after this month, and then I'm done.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _Iris_ by Goo Goo Dolls. I just made it that Christine was the original composer of it. Oh, yeah - and Christine came up with the modern words ''cause' and 'wanna'.**

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Just as Francois had said, Christine was 'up and about before she knew it'. Within a week after the swordfight in the cemetery with Emilie, she was walking around - with some difficulty, though - and traveling all around her lair and the Opera.

"See!" Francois said triumphantly to her when he caught sight of her during her first venture out since she'd been injured. "I told you you'd be better in no time! Look at you - you're walking around like you own the Opera, just like you used to!"

"Yes... I suppose you were right," she said softly, wincing and placing a hand on her stomach for a moment. "You see, this is when I definitely need the morphine. It helps to reduce my pain. Now you can't get angry at me for using it! Yes, there is an advantage to these injuries! I knew there had to be!"

"There's no need to get sarcastic about it, dear," he sighed. "I'm just trying to be positive about the whole thing, seeing as you're already quite lucky that _Mademoiselle_ Chastain didn't kill you. Just be happy that you can at least stand up straight by yourself."

But, despite his positive outlook, she didn't see anything good about her almost complete recovery. What good was almost complete recovery if you couldn't walk around, much less stand up straight, without feeling constant searing pain?

The only good thing she could see about her almost complete recovery was that she could see Cameron again, since she hadn't allowed him to see her while she'd been bedridden. She didn't want to make herself look weak in front of him.

When she informed Francois that she was going to bring Cameron back down to her lair, he instantly wagged his finger and said sternly, "Christine, I hope you give him a good talking to about his fiancee when you see him! That young woman is insane, and she doesn't have any business associating herself with other people when she's like that!"

She sighed, smiled, and shook her head. "Oh, Francois... I'm not angry with him. It's not his fault that Emilie is the way she is. If she's jealous of someone like me and wants to get rid of me, then that's her problem."

That conversation had been finished right then, and no more had been said about Cameron's upcoming arrival to the lair.

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A week after Christine had recovered, Cameron found a note in the dressing room with the mirror, which he'd been visiting daily since the swordfight to see if Christine was around. He picked it up and read it.

_Cameron,_

_Meet me here after rehearsal for _Genius's Mistake_. Then you and I shall go down to my lair together._

_Respectfully yours, Christine_

He smiled and let out a sigh of relief. So Christine was all right after all... good. He'd been really worried that her injuries had led to other things - like death. But now that he'd been contacted by her, he could relax.

Placing the note in his pocket, he walked out of the dressing room to the stage to rehearse _Genius's Mistake_.

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After rehearsal for _Genius's Mistake_, Cameron hurried down to the dressing room with the mirror to meet Christine and see her, so that he would have actual physical evidence that she was alive.

He stepped inside the dressing room and quietly closed the door behind him. Then he walked over to the mirror and stood, waiting.

He didn't wait long. About five minutes later, the mirror opened, and Christine stood there, as alive as ever, on the other side, dressed and ready to go back down to where she lived.

"Christine!" he exclaimed joyously, smiling and stepping through the mirror as she closed it behind him. He was about to throw his arms around her, but then he thought better of it - after all, even if she was alive, she was probably very seriously hurt - and didn't.

She smiled back at him. "Hello, Cameron." She extended her hand to him. "Come with me now. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready all week," he said enthusiastically, taking her hand, and then they started to walk. "I've missed you, Christine... and I've really been quite worried about you, too. I was afraid that your injuries might have led to worse things."

"I've missed you, too," she replied. "Thank you for your concern... I'm quite all right. There's just those moments when I have a tiny bit of pain. But it's all right - I take my morphine for it."

But, little did he know, she was lying about how much pain she felt from her wounds at times. The pain was really almost inbearable, and sometimes she'd even started crying because she hurt so badly. But, she had decided, there was no need for him to know that. There was no need to have him be worried about her.

"Well, I'm glad you're all right," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "I was so angry with Emilie... you have no idea."

"I probably have a good idea," she said dryly. "But it's no matter. As I said, I'm feeling all right. There's no need to get into a row with her about the issue. And speaking of row, let's get on the gondola now." She stepped onto the gondola and grabbed the rowing rod. When he stepped on and sat, she rowed away.

Due to her pain, she now rowed the gondola more slowly than usual - noticeably more slowly. "Is there a reason why we're going to slow?" he asked impatiently; he was eager to get to the lair.

"No," she lied, shrugging. "I was just going at a more leisurely pace... I always go somewhere at a fast pace, you see, so I thought I'd try something different today. Do you need me to go faster?"

"Oh, no; I was just asking."

"Okay," she said, but then started rowing faster anyway, wincing in pain every so often. Then they arrived at the lair about five minutes later.

She stepped off of the gondola, pulled off her cloak, hung it up, and put down the rowing rod. Then she walked over to the gondola and helped him off. "All right. Would you like to eat? Sleep? Talk? Have tea?"

"I'd like to have some tea, please," he said, smiling and sitting down on the sofa.

"Tea it is," she said, nodding, then vanished into the kitchen and prepared Russian tea with lemon. A few minutes later, she came back with tea and teacups on a tray. She poured some tea into a cup and handed it to him. "There."

He took it from her and started drinking his tea. When he was finished, he placed his teacup down and asked, "So when are we going to reopen the Opera and perform _Genius's Mistake_ for the public?"

"March... three more months." She put down her teacup and rose, wincing the tiniest bit so that he didn't notice. "Shall I play something for you?" she inquired.

"Yes, please," he said, smiling. "What are you going to play?"

She sat down at the piano and considered for a moment. Then she played the intro to one of the songs that she'd written and started singing.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you,_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow..._

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be,_

_And I don't wanna go home right now..._

_And all I can taste is this moment..._

_And all I can breathe is your life..._

_When, sooner or later, it's over -_

_I just don't wanna miss you tonight..._

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand..._

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am..._

Then she stopped.

He smiled and applauded. "Lovely. That wasn't the entire song... why don't you ever play your own compositions in their entirety?"

She shrugged. "I just don't, that's all. Are you done with tea?"

"Yes, please."

She rose and put the teacups on the tray. Then she picked up the tray and walked into the kitchen. She washed the dishes and then walked back out into the main part of the lair.

As she was about to sit down on the piano bench, searing pain went through her stomach and lower chest. She let out a little gasp, placed a hand on her stomach, panted a little, placed a hand on the piano to steady herself, and closed her eyes, silently willing the pain to go away.

"Are you all right?"

She opened her eyes and looked over in his direction. He was glancing up at her concernedly from where he sat, and she could tell that he was worried that she was in a lot of pain - which she was.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just this silly corset that I'm wearing... I put it on too tightly this morning when I dressed," she lied, forcing herself to smile in spite of the pain that she still felt. "It's nothing."

He nodded as though he believed her and understood, and she looked away from him, letting out a small sigh. But he knew that she was lying. "Did she hurt you badly?" he asked quietly.

Sighing again, she walked over to the piano bench and sat down. "Well," she said slowly, "she could have done much worse... she could have killed me. But I'm all right; the pain isn't too terrible. You needn't worry, _mon ami_. I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "I didn't know that she was going to do that... I told her that you were going to the cemetery, and she told me that she had a plan. She asked me if I wanted to make you happy, and I said yes... so she told me to drive you to the cemetery and then to beat you to your father's grave and to pretend to be your father by singing for you. I knew it would be wicked deception, but I just wanted to see you smile... and then she came and started fighting you... I had no idea..." Tears started to fill his eyes.

She smiled and patted his arm reaussringly. "It's all right. I'm alive... you don't need to apologize or be upset. It's in the past."

He nodded and wiped his eyes. "Okay."

"All right. Now, I think it's time we went to bed - it's quite late. Oh, wait... we didn't eat... are you hungry?"

"No."

She sighed. "All right. Then let's go to sleep now."

He nodded and walked into his room. "Good night, Christine."

"Good night, Cameron."

Then he closed the door behind him.

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"It's time for you to go back," Christine said to Cameron a week later. "You need to go back up and rehearse for _Genius's Mistake_... or else it won't get done and be ready by March."

"All right," he said, rising from the sofa and stepping onto the gondola. When he was sitting, she put on her cloak, stepped on, grabbed the rowing rod, and rowed away.

When they arrived at the mirror about fifteen minutes later, she said, "All right. I'll see you sometime next week, I suppose."

"A week?" he replied, disappointed. "Why a week? Can't I come back sooner?"

"I regret that that is not possible."

"But... what if I need you? What if I run back down before a week?"

She shrugged. "Then you may stay overnight and go back up the following morning. But that's the only exception... so I'll see you in a week, as long as you don't run down to me, crying."

He smiled and stepped through the mirror to the dressing room as she opened it. "All right. I'll see you soon."

She nodded and slowly started closing the mirror. But then she had another pain attack. She let out a cry of pain when the mirror was halfway shut and placed a hand on the wall, steadying herself, wincing, and closing her eyes.

"Are you all right?" he gasped, starting to open the mirror again.

"Yes," she breathed, sighing and wincing as she stopped him from opening the mirror any further. "Yes, I'm fine... now go. I'll see you soon."

After looking at her hesitantly for a moment, then walked out of the dressing room.

When her attack had passed, she closed the mirror and made her way back down to her lair.

_**After I left the dressing room with the mirror earlier today, I made my way to the stage, fuming. Emilie had hurt Christine... and I wasn't going to allow it any more! She was going to be punished!**_

**_When I found Emilie, she was on stage, practicing with the other female choristers for _Genius's Mistake_. Without speaking to her, I grabbed her arm roughly and steered her off of the stage and into one of the smaller private dressing rooms backstage._**

**_It was only after I'd slammed the door shut behind us that I finally allowed either of us to speak. She was first, saying, counfused, "Cameron, _mon amour_, what's going -"_**

_**I interrupted her by giving her a resounding slap across the cheek. "How dare you!" I shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. "How dare you do this! Trying to kill an innocent, harmless teenager... you must be mad."**_

_**She gazed at me confusedly, placing a hand on her now red cheek. "What innocent, harmless teenager?" she asked. "You mean Christine? That teenager?"**_

**_"Yes, Emilie, Christine!" I spat, my fury rising. "You almost killed her in that ridiculous fight in the cemetery that you started... you almost killed her! Well, when you were unarmed, she could have killed you then and there, did you know that? But she didn't! You ought to see her now... she can't even _stand_ without wincing in pain! And - what may be worse than that, but I doubt it - you lied to me about the entire thing! 'Make her happy and pretend to be her dead father by singing for her'... had I known your true plans, I would have never agreed!"_**

_**"But she was coming between us, Cameron," she said beseehcingly, placing a hand on my arm. "She was separating us; don't you see? I want to get married, Cameron... I'm tired of being engaged! But she was getting in the way. I only want to get married."**_

**_"Well, you're not going to get married now - not to _me_, anyway!" I snapped angrily. "Our wedding is off, Emilie... our engagement is off! We're through, do you hear me? _Through!**

_**Her eyes widened as her face went pale. "You - you can't do that!" she gasped. "You can't break off our engagement - our wedding! We're so close... you can't stop everything now!"**_

_**"I can and I will!" I shouted. "You have no right to do anything like what you did... no right! I won't tolerate any more of this - so we're done! You and I are no more!"**_

_**Then, without waiting for a reply, I stormed out of the dressing room, leaving her there with her shock.**_


	50. Chapter 49: Relocation

**A/N #1: This is probably the last chapter I'm writing before I leave for church camp. I'll be back Friday!**

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A week later, Christine made her way up to the dressing room with the mirror to pick up Cameron.

She stood by the mirror for a few minutes until he arrived in the dressing room, quietly closing the door behind him. In his hands were suitcases. Then he walked over to the mirror and stood there.

"Cameron," she said slowly, opening the mirror, "what are you doing with all of these suitcases? Are you traveling somewhere and just coming to tell me that you won't be coming down?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm moving down in your lair with you... I'm tired of the above world."

Her eyes widened. "_What?_" she gasped. "You're moving down there with me? But... but... why? I'm not properly equipped to have two people constantly living in my lair."

"Oh," he said, sounding rather disappointed and bowing his head slightly. "I'm sorry... I should have given you some sort of notice or warning. But I already moved out of my apartment, and I've already got my bags with me." He held up his bags.

"Well," she began, "I suppose that I can adjust things so that I can have two people there. But why are you doing this? And what about your fiancee? Were you not going to marry her at some point?"

He looked angry suddenly. "We've separated," he said rather shortly. "I don't want to associate myself with her any more. She's mad; she almost killed you, after all. Therefore, I'm moving down here with you. I don't like the above world any more - it's so full of cruel people."

"You're telling me," she said incredulously, "that you and your fiancee are no longer engaged? You're not going to marry her? That just seems... I don't know; unusual. I never thought that you two would separate."

"Well, believe it or not, we have." He smiled at her briefly. "I'd never marry a girl who would hurt one of the few dear, close friends that I have. And she hurt you. You came first, so I'm getting rid of the second."

She gazed at him, amazed, for a moment. "Wow... I never knew that you cared that much about me." She extended her hand to him and smiled. "Well, come down with me now - we shall have you settled in by the end of the night."

He smiled and took her hand. "Oh, I'm so happy," he said enthusiastically as she closed the mirror and they started walking. "I get to live underground with you. Something about that makes me happy."

"Happy," she echoed softly. "You're happy to be with me... that's something that makes me happy." She let out a sigh as they stepped onto the gondola and she grabbed the rowing rod. Then they rowed away.

"Cameron," she continued as she rowed the gondola, "I have a very impertinent question to ask you, and it's foolish, but I'd very much appreciate it if you gave me a completely honest answer. Do you promise?"

"Of course," he said as he looked at her, sounding surprised. "I wouldn't lie to you, Christine, ever. Well, I might lie if the truth might hurt you, but I wouldn't lie to you for anything else. What is it?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing herself to ask a question that she'd had on her mind since he'd returned to her. Then she opened her eyes and looked down at him. "Do you love me?"

He gazed at her intently for a moment before shaking his head. "No, Christine. I don't love you... I know that you love me, but to me you're nothing more than a friend."

"Oh." She bowed her head slightly, feeling disappointed. Then she glanced back up at him. "Do you think," she began hesitantly, "that you could, maybe, learn to love me at some point?"

"Well, I think I could," he said, smiling at her. "Yes... I just might learn to love you, Christine. But we'll have to give it time. Do you think you could wait and see if I can change?"

"I'll wait for as long as it takes," she said softly. Then she saw that the gate was opening in front of them. "We're here," she said brightly, smiling. "Welcome back to your new home, Cameron."

"Oh, I'm so glad we're here," he said with a sigh, smiling at her. "It's good to be home. I think that I'm going to like living here very much, Christine. I love being down here... with you."

"Well, thank you," she replied, rowing the gondola onto the shore of the lake and stepping off. Then she removed her cloak, hung it up, and walked back over to him, extending both of her hands this time. "Here - hand me some of your bags."

He handed her two of his suitcases and rose, picking up the other two suitcases and stepping off of the gondola. Then he followed her into his room and turned on the light as they stepped inside his room.

"All right," she said, placing his suitcases that she'd brought into his room on his bed. "Do you need help unpacking? If you don't, then I'll go ahead and start our supper."

"Oh, no, that's all right," he said, smiling at her. "I can quite easily unpack and settle in myself. You go ahead and make some supper - what are we having, may I ask?"

"I was thinking that we could have some chicken drumsticks," she said with a shrug. "Unless you'd like to have something else to eat. I cook a range of foods - souffle, Italian foods... just tell me what you'd like."

"I'd like to have chicken; that sounds nice," he said. "I like chicken. I used to eat chicken a lot when I lived in London... but I haven't eaten it for several years. My friend and I used to eat chicken all the time at his house - I practically lived at his house, you see."

"Oh." She nodded. "All right - I'll go prepare and cook the chicken. You go ahead and get settled in, and just tell me if you need any help, all right? I'll let you know when we're ready to eat."

"All right," he said. Then he unopened his suitcases and started pulling out its contents, placing them where they belonged. She gazed at him for a moment, then walked out of his room and into the kitchen to prepare supper.

By the time he was unpacked, she called out, "Supper is ready! Come and get your drink, Cameron, and then we'll eat. I have water and... well, water." She laughed. "All I have is water... I shall have to buy some alcohol for you, seeing as you're twenty - one now."

He walked out of his bedroom and got himself a glass of water. Then he sat down at the table, where the chicken drumsticks were set out on a plate, ready to eat. She'd also put out some candles and lit them. "Candlelight dinner?"

She blushed slightly as she sat down at the table. "I thought it would just make it look nicer," she muttered. "I wasn't trying to set any kind of atmosphere... don't get the wrong impression. Now, let's eat, shall we?"

So they each picked up a piece of chicken and started eating. They ate all of the chicken on the plate until they were done and they started slouching in their chairs, sighing and patting their full bellies.

"I'll do the dishes," he offered, rising and taking the dishes and glasses. "If I'm going to live here, I have to start doing my part in housekeeping now." He walked into the kitchen and washed the dishes.

When he was finished, he walked out into the main part of the lair, where she was sitting down at the piano bench, turned away from the piano, staring off into space. He sat down on the sofa.

She saw that he had sat and sat up straight on the piano bench. Then she started to make conversation and said, "You said that you had a close friend in London... have you seen him lately?"

He shook his head. "No, but he moved here from London about two years ago. I saw him when he first moved here, and I saw him a few times after Emilie and I first got engaged, but I haven't seen him in about nine months."

"Oh. Well, that's nice that you're at least close to him... does he live in a house or an apartment?"

"He lives in a house. It's a very nice house, too - big and full of space, which he really doesn't need. It's got a lot of room in it, but he's the only one living in the house. He comes from a socially prominent family, you see, so he spends money on grand, big things." He laughed. "Yes, he's quite a big spender... but he's wise about his spending for the most part. And the best thing about it is that the money he spends is his own; he won't get his inheritance until his mother dies."

She nodded. "I see. His family is socially prominent... are they snobby and stuck - up? Of course, I don't imagine that you'd associate yourself with snobby, stuck - up people."

"Oh, no, he's very nice," he said, shaking his head. "His family is very nice for the most part... although his mother reminds me of you at times." He gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. "She has a very bad temper, you see - or, at least, she did the last time I saw her."

"I see." She yawned, stretched, and pulled out her pocketwatch. "It's late," she sighed. "We'd better get to bed."

He nodded and rose, stretching. "Well, good night, Christine," he said with a yawn. "I'll see you in the morning... and you'll take me up to rehearse for _Genius's Mistake_, right?"

"Yes. Good night."

"Night," he sighed, walking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

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**A/N #2: I hope you were paying attention when Cameron was talking about his friend, and if you're weren't, go back and read it, because it'll help you later on. That's all I'm gonna say.**


	51. Chapter 50: Learn How To Love

**A/N #1: Okay, I lied... this is definitely most likely my last chapter before I leave.**

**A/N # 2: Rushing!**

**A.N #3: My friend and faithful reader Stephanie inspired me to take the story in a different direction, starting now. Thanks, Stephi! So here's some C/C fluff for you!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the song _Anytime You Need A Friend_ by Mariah Carey. I just made it that Cameron (ooh, Cameron can write songs, too!) was the original composer of it. Oh, and he came up with the word 'baby' (affection, not like an infant child).**

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_**I think I'm falling in love with Christine... but I don't know for sure.**_

_**It's hard being around Emilie and trying to figure out what I feel for Christine, because I still love Emilie. And then there's the fact of Christine's face.**_

_**Please help me, God...**_

Two months later, Christine awoke to hear the sound of music being played. She opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched. Then she rose and walked out of her bedroom, following the sound of the music.

She found Cameron sitting at the piano, playing a song that she'd never heard before. He turned in her direction when he heard her and saw her. "Good morning, Christine!" he said brightly, greeting her with a smile.

"Good morning," she said quietly, sitting down on the sofa. "What are you doing, Cameron?"

"I'm playing a song for you," he said, shrugging. "Don't you know what day it is?"

She slowly rose and walked over to where she had a 1926 calendar hanging up. She looked at the date. "It's February fourteenth," she said, shrugging and turning back to him. "What's your point?"

"Don't you know what February fourteenth is?" he said, still playing the piano. "It's Valentine's Day, the celebration of love! I wrote a song for you... I was wondering if I might play it."

"You wrote a song?" she gasped, sitting back down on the sofa. "You wrote a song? For me?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yes." He paused and took a deep breath. "Christine, these past two months with you have been... amazing. I feel the happiest I've felt in a long time when I'm with you. And... I think that I'm in love with you."

Her face went pale. "You think you're in love? With _me_? _Mon ami_, you must be crazy!"

"No, I don't think so... or maybe I am," he said with a laugh. "But I believe that I love you... you may not be the most beautiful woman on this earth, but you're nice - looking, considering the mask... oh, I'm sorry! How thoughtless of me... but may I play my song for you?"

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. Go ahead."

He turned back to the piano, played the introduction to his song, and then started singing.

_If you're lonely and need a friend,_

_And troubles seem like they never end,_

_Just remember to keep the faith_

_And love will be there to light the way..._

_Anytime you need a friend,_

_I will be here..._

_You'll never be alone again,_

_So don't you fear,_

_Even if you're miles away,_

_I'm by your side,_

_So don't you ever be lonely_

_Love will make it all right..._

_When the shadows are closing in_

_And your spirit diminishing,_

_Just remember you're not alone_

_And love will be there to guide you home..._

_Anytime you need a friend,_

_I will be here..._

_You'll never be alone again,_

_So don't you fear,_

_Even if you're miles away,_

_I'm by your side,_

_So don't you ever be lonely_

_Love will make it all right..._

_If you just believe in me,_

_I will love you endlessly..._

_Take my hand,_

_Take me into your heart -_

_I'll be there forever, baby_

_I won't let go, I won't let go..._

_Anytime you need a friend,_

_I will be here..._

_You'll never be alone again,_

_So don't you fear,_

_Even if you're miles away,_

_I'm by your side,_

_So don't you ever be lonely_

_Love will make it all right..._

Then he stopped and looked at her expectantly. "How was that?" he asked nervously.

She stared at him for a moment, stunned. "Wow," she finally breathed. "That was... amazing, Cameron. Nobody's ever done that for me before. That was very... sweet of you." She rose from the sofa and walked over to where he sat.

He scooted away from where he sat and patted the space next to him. "Sit."

"Thank you," she said, sitting next to him. Then she gazed at him intently for a moment. "Thank you for the song... it was very nice of you. I suppose," she continued shyly, starting to blush a little, "that it would be too much to ask to have a kiss... as a Valentine's Day present?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said gently. "I may love you, but I'm not ready to kiss you. What about an embrace?"

"I'll do fine with a hug," she said, then they wrapped their arms around each other.

_**I love Christine Elizabeth Vasille.**_


	52. Chapter 51: Beggars and Choosers

**A/N: I'm back! Hooray! -tosses confetti-**

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About a month later, Christine announced to Cameron, "_Genus's Mistake_ will go on at the end of the month. Tell everyone that when when you go up there for rehearsal later this morning."

Cmeron nodded. "All right. Let's go on up, then."

So they each put on their cloaks on got onto the gondola. Then she grabbed the rowing rod and rowed away.

When they reached the mirror about fifteen minutes later, he gazed at her intently for a moment. "So I'll see you after rehearsal?"

She nodded and smiled. "Of course."

"Okay." Then he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. He smiled a little and closed his eyes for a moment, savoring their embrace.

She let out a contented sigh and wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you, too," he said softly, letting go of her hesitantly and then stepping through the mirror.

She smiled, waved, and then closed the mirror. Then she made her way back down to the lair.

He gazed at the closed mirror for a moment, then smiled and walked out of the dressing room to the stage, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the stage, where everyone in the production was standing around, waiting for him to be present. Then they saw him and instantly started greeting him.

He raised his hands for silence. Everyone grew quiet. "All right, everyone," he said loudly so everyone would hear. "The Phantom has informed me that _Genius's Mistake_ will be performed at the end of the month, therefore reopening the Opera. So let's rehearse now, so that we will have a perfect opening night!"

Everyone applauded and got into their starting places.

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A few hours later, about five minutes before rehearsal was going to be let out for the day, Cameron felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. He turned and saw Emilie.

"Hello, Emilie," he said coolly, nodding. "What is it that you want?"

"Hello, Cameron," she replied, smiling and looking a little nervous. "May I speak to you in private for a few moments? Please?"

He considered for a moment, then nodded. "All right." He walked off of the stage to one of the small private dressing rooms. She followed.

"What is it?" he asked when she closed the door and were sure that they were alone.

She gazed at him for a moment. Then she placed a hand on his arm. "I want you to come back to me, Cameron," she said beseechingly. "I love you, and I know that you still love me. After _Genius's Mistake_'s opening night, let's leave and go somewhere far away from here; a place where you can begin to forget the Opera and all of its residents. We'll go away and get married... don't you still want that, somewhere deep inside of you?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Emilie," he said slowly. "I've got to think about it... and I'm going to tell Christine that I'm thinking about it. It's only fair."

"Why are you going to tell her?" she demanded. "She's just a friend, isn't she?"

"No," he confessed. "No... not any more. I love her. We're courting. Didn't you know that? Of course you didn't... forgive me for the sudden announcement, my dear." He pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at it. "It's four o'clock," he said. "I'm going. Good bye."

Then he turned and made his way to the dressing room with the mirror to go down to the lair with Christine.

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"Cameron, you look uneasy about something," Christine said some time later as she and Cameron sat in the lair together, drinking tea. "What troubles you, _mon amour_?"

Cameron sighed and placed his teacup down on the table. "I talked to Emilie during rehearsal today," he began. "She asked me to get back with her. She said that on the opening night of _Genius's Mistake_, we'd go away together after the performance and get married."

"I see," she murmured, placing her teacup down on the table as well. "And what did you say?"

"I told her that I'd think about it, and that I'd tell you about it."

"Oh," she sighed, rising and picking up their teacups. "Then you'd better decide, hadn't you? It's only two weeks until opening night."

"Christine -"

"Oh, please, don't apologize... none of us can choose where we will love, after all."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

_Damn you, Emilie Chastain! Damn you!_

_Cameron loves me, he's with me, and, if you've forgotten, _he_ broke off your engagement!_

Quit trying to separate us!


	53. Chapter 52: Deception

**A/N #1: I'm rushing again... and we're about five chapters from being through with the story.**

**A/N #2: The chapters are going to be short for a while.**

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"You killed someone today!" said Francois to Christine severely. "You killed one of the scene - shifters... why?"

"He was bothering me," Christine sighed, shrugging. "What do _you_ do when someone bothers you?"

"I certainly don't kill them!" he exclaimed. "You must be mad. You're really going to get into trouble someday for scaring almost everyone at the Opera."

She sat down on the sofa and was thoughtfully silent for a moment. "I'm rather enjoying this reign of terror," she commented reflectively. "It suits me well, does it not? After all, I _am_ my father's daughter."

He sighed and shook his head as he sat down next to her. "You've got to stop it, Christine, before it's too late," he said in a warning tone. "If you don't stop sometime in the very near future, they're going to come after you, and then you'll be sorry."

"They're going to come after me?" she said, laughing. "Good luck, Francois! I'd like to see them try and get _me_. They'll never defeat me!"

"Has _Monsieur_ Luc decided who he's going to be with, dear?" he sighed, changing the subject. "You've only got a week left."

"No, he hasn't told me anything yet."

He nodded. "Well, you'd better hope that he makes up his mind quickly. And you'd better hope that it turns out in your favor." He glanced at his pocketwatch. "I've got to go now," he said. "I need to make sure that the sceneries are running smoothly for next week."

Then he rose and walked out of the lair.

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"Have you decided who you're going to be with yet, _mon amour_?" Emilie asked Cameron the next day during rehearsal for _Genius's Mistake_.

Cameron turned to Emilie, nodded, and smiled. "Yes. You."

She smiled brightly. "Truly? You're going to leave with me on opening night?"

"Truly I am." He paused. "I've just got to decide how I'm going to tell Christine."

"You're going to tell her? Why?"

"She has a right to know."

She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I really don't think that that's a good idea, Cameron," she said appeasingly. "You might anger her. Why are you leaving her so quickly, only a month after saying that you love her?"

He bowed his head and stared at his feet. "I - I can't look past certain... _qualities_ that she posses," he said quietly. "I mean, she's a nice and wonderful person when she's not in a temper, but I can't help but think about what lies behind that mask and shudder."

"Neither can I. Just don't tell her your plans... it will be better for everyone."

He stared into space thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. "All right. I won't tell her."


	54. Chapter 53: The Promise

**A/N: Oops... just when you think you know what's going through Cameron's head... I mess it up! MWAHAHA!**

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A week later, on the day of _Genius's Mistake_'s opening night, Emilie said to Cameron, "Just so you know, we're still going to go through with that plan that I came up with a few months back. The _gendarmes_ will be at the performance tonight, ready to kill Christine when necessary."

"We are?" Cameron gasped, shocked. "I didn't know that... all right."

Then someone announced that rehearsal was finished, and he made his way to the dressing room with the mirror to meet up with Christine for a moment.

Christine opened the mirror as soon as he stepped inside the dressing room and closed the door. She instantly saw his worried expression and exclaimed, "What's wrong, Cameron? You look nervous."

"Christine, promise me that you won't go up there tonight."

"Why? It's _my_ opera."

"The _gendarmes_ are going to be there, armed and ready to kill you at a moment's notice. I don't want anything to happen to you." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Christine... please... whatever you do, _don't_ go up there tonight. I'll come see you after the performance."

She crossed her arms underneath her cloak and gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment. "All right," she said, nodding. "I'll see you tonight."

He let out a sigh of relief and walked out of the dressing room to go rehearse more with everyone else.

When he closed the door behind him, she uncrossed her arms and smiled secretly at her crossed fingers. "Sorry, Cameron," she said, looking at the closed door. "I'm not missing my opera for anything or anyone... not even for you."

Then she closed the mirror and walked down the her lair.

_So, Cameron thinks that he can fool me by threatening that I'm going to get killed! Well, the police may be there, but you're just doing it so that you can run away with Emilie Castain!_

_Well, I'm no fool... I'll be there tonight to make one final plea to make you stay forever!_

I won't let my father down!


	55. Chapter 54: Genius's Mistake, Act One

**A/N #1: For lack of a better title, this chaper is called '_Genius's Mistake_, Act One'.**

**Disclaimer: Since _Genius's Mistake_ is a bunch of songs thrown together, I don't own the following songs: _Somebody To Love_ (by Queen), _This Is How A Heart Breaks_ (by Rob Thomas), and _All My Life_ (by America). I also don't own the names Satine and Christian (from _Moulin Rouge!_), which are the names of the head male, played by Cameron, and female, played by Marie.**

**A/N #2: Since Cameron and Marie (the girl who plays the lead female role) both sing for the first, second, and fourth songs, this is how we'll do it - Marie is in italics, Cameron is in bold, and both are in bold and italics.**

**A/N #3: Since I'm so lazy, I'm not typing all of _This Is How..._ so Christine cut it off.**

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Later that night, the Opera was filled with crowds of people dressed in their finest, prepared to watch a performance of a new opera, _Genius's Mistake_, written by some mysterious young genius, that was said to be "a tale of romance, hatred, and lust".

Christine watched through a window that was in the room that held the chain that held up the chandelier as policemen marched outside the Opera, waiting to enter and take their positions. "Fools!" she muttered, unhooking the chandelier chain - just in case. Then she walked back down to her lair.

A few minutes later, the operagoers had filed into the auditorium and had sat down in their seats. They looked around, talking to each other, excited about the coming performance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice announced, "please put your hands together for _Genius's Mstake_!"

The audience went crazy. Underneath the stage, Christine smiled to herself. She was getting such a positive reaction already, and the show hadn't even started yet!

She took a deep breath as she heard the starting music to the first song start to play. She heard the footsteps of Cameron and Marie, Emilie's sister and the leading role, above her onstage.

_**Can anybody find me**_

_**Somebody to love?**_

**Each morning, I get up;**

**I die a little -**

**Can barely stand up on my feet,**

**Take a look in the mirror and cry...**

**Lord, what you're doing to me -**

**I have spent all my years**

**Believing you,**

**But I just can't get no relief, Lord!**

**Somebody, somebody,**

**Can anybody find me**

**Somebody to love?**

_I work hard every day of my life_

_I work till I ache my bones_

_At the end, I take home_

_My hard - earned pay all on my own;_

_I get down on my knees_

_And I start to pray_

_Till the tears run down from my eyes..._

_Lord, somebody, somebody,_

_Can anybody find me_

_Somebody to love?_

_**Everyday, I try and I try and I try,**_

_**But everybody wants to put me down**_

**They say I'm goin' crazy,**

**They say I got of water in my brain**

_Got no common sense,_

_I got nobody left to believe_

_**Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...**_

**Oh, Lord,**

_Somebody, somebody,_

_**Can anybody find me**_

_**Somebody to love?**_

_Got no feel, I got no rhythm -_

_I just keep losing my beat_

_I'm okay, I'm alright_

_Ain't gonna face no defeat_

**I just gotta get out of this prison cell;**

**Someday, I'm gonna be free, Lord!**

_**Find me somebody to love...**_

_**Can anybody find me...**_

_Somebody to love?_

The audience applauded, and she could see Cameron's and Marie's charactrers accidentially running into each other. The audience laughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Marie, alias Satine, exclaimed, and Christine could picture her bending down to pick up her fallen staff paper. "I didn't see you... I was deep in thought."

"It was my fault," Cameron, or Christian, said, and she could see him helping her pick up the rest of her fallen papers. "I'm always deep in thought, too... what's your excuse?"

'Satine' held up her staff paper. "I'm a writer, you see - I write music. I came up here to look for inspiration."

"Well, that's interesting," 'Christian' said, smiling. "Listen... maybe I'd be bothering your inspiration time to ask, but... would you like to come to my house with me? It's heaven."

"Oh, I'm sure it's a nice place, but no, thank you."

'Christian' laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't think you understand... I live in Heaven. I'm an angel, you see."

Christine could see 'Satine' start to look uncomfortable. "Oh, I see. Well, then I'd definitely better not come. I'm not on very good terms with God, you see. I'll see you around." Then she hurried offstage.

"Wait -!" 'Christian' said, stepping forward and holding out his hand to her in a supplicative gesture as she walked offstage. He looked after her for a moment, then sighed and turned to the audience. "Women sometimes," he sighed, shaking his head. "You never know about them..." The music started to the next song. "There was this one girl that I loved once. She was one of God's angels - literally." The audience laughed. "But... she was just messing with my head, and she hurt me. I hope that that girl" - he pointed to where 'Satine' had gone offstage - "isn't the same way."

**Don't you wanna go for a ride,**

**Just keep your hands inside**

**And make the most out of life?**

**Now don't you take it for granted...**

**Life is like a mean machine -**

**It made a mess outta me**

**It left me caught between**

**Like an angry dream, I was stranded**

**I was stranded...**

**And I'm steady, but I'm starting to shake**

**And I don't know how much more I can take..**

**This is it now**

**Everybody get down**

**This is all I can take**

**This is how a heart breaks**

**You take a hit,**

**Now you feel it break down**

**Make you stay wide awake**

**This is how a heart breaks**

**Don't you wanna go for a ride**

**Down to the other side**

**Feels so good, you could cry?**

**Now won't you do what I told you...**

**I remember when you used to be shy**

**Yeah, once we were so fine, you and I**

**Why you gotta make it so hard on me?**

**Yeah, it's hard on me...**

**And I'm sorry, but it's not a mistake**

**And I'm running but you're getting away...**

**This is it now**

**Everybody get down**

**This is all I can take**

**This is how a heart breaks**

**You take a hit,**

**Now you feel it break down**

**Make you stay wide awake**

**This is how a heart breaks...**

**You're not the best thing that I knew**

**Never was never cared too much**

**For all this hanging around**

**It's just the same thing all the time**

**Never get what I want**

**Never get too close to the end of the line**

**You're just the same thing that I knew back before the time**

**When I was only for you...**

Then, suddenly, girls dressed in white came to him, and he started dancing with each of them as the music played. The audience went wild.

As the music ended, a line of fire lit up right on the sides of the stage. The audience applauded and went wild again.

The girls that had been dancing with 'Christian' ran offstage, but 'Christian' remained. The lights suddenly got dimmer, and everyone in the audience watched as 'Satine' came out of a trapdoor on the stage and closed it when she got out.

"You!" gasped 'Christian', pointing at 'Satine'. "You just came from... from... well, uh, Hell."

'Satine' nodded slowly. "Yes, I live in Hell," she replied. "And... you live in Heaven. Oh, dear..."

"What?"

"Well, I, uh... I think I've started to like you... maybe even love you?" she said uncertainly. "But it was a mistake... you see, in case you don't know the rule about love, people who live in Heaven aren't supposed to fall in love with people in Hell. It just makes the world stop. I - I'm sorry." Then she started to walk off stage again.

He grabbed her wrist. "Wait! Stay here... I have something to say." He took a deep breath. "I think I love you, too. But I hardly know you... oh, but, I don't care... just stay." The music for the next song started. He gazed at her intently for a moment, then started singing.

**All my life, without a doubt I give you**

**All my life, now and forever till the**

**Day I die, you and I will share**

**All the things this changing world can offer**

**So I sing, I'd be happy just to**

**Stay this way, spend each day, with you**

_There was a time, that I just thought_

_That I would lose my mind_

_You came along and then the sun did shine_

_We started on our way_

_I do recall that every moment spent_

_Was wasted time but then I chose to lay it on the line_

_**I put the past away**_

_**I put the past away**_

_**I put the past away**_

_**All my life, I will carry you through**_

_**All my life, between each hour of the passing days**_

_**I will stay with you**_

**There was a time, that I just thought**

**That I would lose my mind**

**You came along and then the sun did shine**

**We started on our way**

**I do recall that every moment spent**

**Was wasted time then I chose to lay it on the line**

_**I want this all my life**_

_**I want this all my life**_

_**I want this all my life**_

_**I want this all my life**_

_**I want this all my life**_

_**I wanted this all my life...**_

As the music ended, the two looked at each other for a moment, then started kissing. The audience applauded as the curtain fell. Then the audience left for the intermission while everyone backstage prepared for Act Two.

Christine took a deep breath. Only one more act, and then Act Three - the ending.


	56. Chapter 55: Genius's Mistake, Act Two

**A/N: For lack of a better title, once again, this chapter is called '_Genius's Mistake_, Act Two'. And the separation of who's singing what is the same as Act One (Marie is italics, Cameron is bold, and both is bold and italics).**

**Disclaimer: Since, once again, _Genius's Mistake_ is a bunch of songs thrown together, I don't own the following songs: _Love Is_ (by Bryan McKinght and Vanessa Williams), _Only Hope_ (by Mandy Moore), _Hellfire_ (from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_) (I changed some of the lyrics for it), and _I'm Your Angel_ (by Celine Dion). I also don't own the name Satine and Christian (from _Moulin Rouge!_), which are the names of the head male and female. And I also don't own Erik's part of the _Phantom_ song _We Have All Been Blind_ (_Seal my fate tonight..._), which I had to revise a little to make sense.**

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Fifteen minutes later, the operagoers filed into the auditorium and took their seats for Act Two of _Genius's Mistake_. Underneath the stage, Christine leaned against a nearby wall to support herself, since her legs were already getting rather tired.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice announced, "put your hands together once again for _Genius's Mistake_!" The audience appluaded.

The lights dimmed for a moment, and the piano introduction for the first song of Act Two started playing. The audience saw the shadows of Cameron ('Christian') and Marie ('Satine') walk in on the opposite sides of the stage.

The light came on 'Satine' and 'Christian', and 'Satine' started singing.

_They say it's a river _

_That circles the Earth,_

_A beam of light shinin'_

_To the edge of the universe_

_It conquers all..._

_It changes everything..._

_They say it's a blessing,_

_They say it's a gift,_

_They say it's a miracle,_

_And I believe that it is_

_It conquers all..._

_But it's a mystery..._

_Love breaks your heart..._

_Love takes no less than everything..._

_Love makes it hard..._

_And it fades away_

_So easily..._

**In this world we've created**

**In this place that we live**

**In the blink of an eye, babe,**

**The darkness slips in**

**Love lights the world...**

**Unites the lovers for eternity**

**Love breaks the chains...**

**Love aches for every one of us...**

**Love takes the tears and the pain...**

**And then turns it into**

**The beauty that remains**

_Look at this place_

_It was paradise_

_But now it's dying_

_I'll pray for love_

**I'll take my chances**

**That it's not too late...**

_Love breaks your heart..._

_Love takes no less than everything..._

_Love makes it hard..._

_And it fades away_

_So easily..._

**And it fades away so easily...**

**Oh, oh, oh...**

The audience applauded, and 'Christian' and 'Satine' ran to each other and embraced.

"Satine," murmured 'Christian', burying his face in her hair. "Satine, my dear... oh, it seems like I haven't seen you in eternity. Are you all right?"

'Satine' looked at him for a moment. "Oh, I'm so confused, Christian... I don't know what to do about us! I want to be with you... but I can't be with you and live in Hell. What should I do?"

'Christian' looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't know," he murmured slowly. "I don't know. We shall decide in our separate places and meet here tonight. All right?"

'Satine' nodded. "All right."

'Christian' pulled something out of his pocket. It was a black full mask. "Take this," he said, handing it to her, "and wear it when you come up here tonight, so that only I will recognize you."

"Okay. I'll be back tonight." 'Satine' concealed the mask and opened the trapdoor that was 'Hell'. Then she entered and closed the trapdoor behind her. After a moment, 'Christian' exited offstage.

The lights dimmed for a moment, and then, when they came up again, the scenery looked different and eviler than before. It was quite obvious that this next scene was being set in Hell.

'Satine' entered and sat down on the floor. Then the introduction to the next song started playing, and soon, Satine sang.

_There's a song that's inside of my soul -_

_It's the one that I've tried to write_

_Over and over again_

_I'm awake in the infinite cold,_

_But You sing to me_

_Over and over and over again..._

_So I lay my head back down_

_And I lift my hands_

_And pray to be only Yours_

_I pray to be only Yours_

_I know now you're my only hope..._

_Sing to me the song of the stars_

_Of Your galaxy,_

_Dancing and laughing and laughing again..._

_When it feels like my dreams are so far,_

_Sing to me of the plans_

_That you have for me over again..._

_So I lay my head back down_

_And I lift my hands _

_And pray to be only yours_

_I pray to be only yours_

_I know now you're my only hope..._

_I give You my destiny,_

_I'm giving You all of me,_

_I want Your symphony,_

_Singing in all that I am_

_At the top of my lungs,_

_I'm giving it back..._

_So I lay my head back down_

_And I lift my hands_

_And pray to be only yours_

_I pray to be only yours_

_I pray to be only yours_

_I know now you're my only hope..._

The audience applauded, but then their applause was cut short by a loud, evil - sounding chord being struck on the organ. A man entered on the stage. He was dressed in a long black robe and had on long black hair. His name was Ellison Jamesque, who was called 'Demeaior' in the opera. 'Demeaior' was second to Satan and lusted after 'Satine'.

"Demeaior!" exclaimed 'Satine', instantly rising in the presence of her superior.

'Demeaior' looked around. "Who are you singing to?" he demanded possessively. "A man?"

'Satine' shook her head. "No, Demeaior. I was singing to myself. Nobody, I promise." Then she pulled out her black mask and put it on. "I'm going out now." She then exited offstage.

"Don't stay out too late!" 'Demeaior' called after her, then walked to the center of the stage. Evil - sounding music started, and then 'Demeaior' started singing.

_Beata Maria,_

_You know I am a righteous man -_

_Of my virtue I am justly proud..._

_Beata Maria,_

_You know I'm so much purer than_

_The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd..._

_Then tell me, Maria,_

_Why I see her singing there -_

_Why her smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul..._

_I feel her, I see her_

_The sun caught in raven hair_

_Is blazing in me, out of all control..._

_Like fire, hellfire,_

_This fire in my skin_

_This burning desire_

_Is turning me to sin -_

_It's not my fault..._

_I'm not to blame..._

_It is the singer girl,_

_The witch who sent this flame..._

_It's not my fault..._

_If in God's plan,_

_He made the devil so much_

_Stronger than a man..._

_Protect me, Maria,_

_Don't let this siren cast her spell..._

_Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone..._

_Destroy Satine_

_And let her taste the fires of hell_

_Or else let her be mine and mine alone..._

_Hellfire, dark fire_

_Now, Satine, it's your turn..._

_Choose me or your pyre -_

_Be mine or you will burn..._

_God have mercy on her..._

_God have mercy on me..._

_But she will be mine_

_Or she will burn!_

Then, as the ending music started, 'Demeaior' started laughing evilly, tossing his head back and laughing. Then the lights cut out, and the audience started applauding.

The lights came up, and 'Satine' and 'Christian' entered onstage. Music to the final song of the act started, and Satine started singing.

_No mountain's too high_

_For you to climb_

_All you have to do_

_Is have some climbing faith..._

_No river's too wide_

_For you to make it across_

_All you have to do is believe it_

_When you pray..._

_And then you will see_

_The morning will come_

_And everyday will be bright as the sun_

_All of your fears -_

_Cast them on me_

_I just want you to see..._

_I'll be your cloud up in the sky..._

_I'll be your shoulder when you cry..._

_I'll hear your voices when you call me..._

_I am your angel..._

_And when all hope is gone, I'm here_

_No matter how far you are, I'm near_

_It makes no difference_

_Who you are..._

_I am your angel..._

_I'm your angel..._

_I saw the teardrops,_

_And I heard you cry_

_All you need is time_

_Seek me and you shall find_

_You have everything_

_And you're still lonely_

_It doesn't have to be this way..._

_Let me show you a better day..._

_And then you will see_

_The morning will come_

_And all of your days will be bright as the sun_

_So all of your fears -_

_Just cast them on me_

_How can I make you see..._

_I'll be your cloud up in the sky..._

_I'll be your shoulder when you cry..._

_I'll hear your voices when you call me..._

_I am your angel..._

_And when all hope is gone, I'm here_

_No matter how far you are, I'm near_

_It makes no difference_

_Who you are_

_I am your angel..._

_I'm your angel..._

_And when it's time to face the storm,_

_I'll be right by your side..._

_Grace will keep up safe and warm,_

_And I know we will survive..._

_And when it seems as if your end_

_Is drawing near,_

_Don't you dare give up the fight -_

_Just put your trust beyond the sky..._

_I'll be your cloud up in the sky..._

_I'll be your shoulder when you cry..._

_I'll hear your voices when you call me..._

_I am your angel..._

_And when all hope is gone, I'm here_

_No matter how far you are, I'm near_

_It makes no difference_

_Who you are_

_I am your angel..._

_I'm your angel..._

Then, suddenly, there was a bright flash of light. The audience gasped. When the light vanished, 'Satine' was dressed fully in white and had on a white mask. Then she stepped closer to 'Christian' as she continued singing.

_I'll be your cloud up in the sky..._

_I'll be your shoulder when you cry..._

_I'll hear your voices when you call me..._

_I am your angel..._

_And when all hope is gone, I'm here_

_No matter how far you are, I'm near_

_It makes no difference_

_Who you are_

_I am your angel..._

_I'm your angel..._

The audience applauded, and when they were done, the performers continued.

"Satine," 'Christian' exclaimed, stroking 'Satine''s cheek, "Satine, darling... you're doing this? You're transforming into an angel... for me?"

'Satine' nodded and smiled. "Yes. I'd do anything for you." Then they kissed, and the lights went down and the curtain fell as the audience applauded. Then the audience rose and walked out of the auditorium for intermission while everyone backstage prepared for Act Three.

Underneath the stage, Christine walked down to her lair. When she got there, she started preparing to go up and perform in the final act of _Genius's Mistake_. She put on her white dress, which was an exact replica of the one that Marie had been wearing as 'Satine' onstage. Then, as she put on her mask, she started singing.

_Seal my fate tonight_

_I hate to have to cut the fun short,_

_But the joke's wearing thin..._

_Let the audience in..._

_Let the last act begin!_


	57. Chapter 56: Public Plea

**A/N #1: All right, people... the end is near. Very near. We're very much near the end.**

**A/N #2: All right - this chapter has a decent title! It's called 'Public Plea'. But, if you want to be boring, then call it 'Genius's Mistake, Act Three'.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own the names Satine and Christian (from _Moulin Rouge!_). And since _Genius's Mistake_ is, once again, a bunch of songs thrown together, I don't own one song: _Come What May_ (from _Moulin Rouge!_). I also don't own Erik's version of _All I Ask Of You_ (the one he sings at the end of _The Point Of No Return_), which I had to revise a little to make sense. (That should tell you what happens here.)**

**A/N #3: So you don't get confused, Christine's singing is italics, Cameron's singing is bold, and both of them are bold and italics.**

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Fifteen minutes later, the operagoers entered the auditorium and took their seats for the third and final act of _Genius's Mistake_.

Christine quickly walked over to a side trapdoor, where Marie was going to be taking her place in a moment. After a few seconds, Marie arrived, and she instantly put the Punjab around her neck. Marie gagged and resisted, but her neck eventually snapped.

"Sorry, _Mademoiselle_ Marie," she said, dropping her body on the floor quietly. "This is my act."

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice announced, "put your hands together one last time for _Genius's Mistake_!" The audience applauded.

The lights dimmed onstage. Then an evil - sounding chord was struck on the organ again. The lights came up, and 'Demeaior' came onstage. Some guards dressed in black came onstage on the other side and met him in the center of the stage.

"Well?" demanded 'Demeaior'. "Have you found her?"

"We caught sight of her not all that long ago," one of the guards said, "but she got away." His voice got lower as he moved in closer to 'Demeaior'. "She was dressed in white, sir... I do believe that she's transformed into an angel."

"What?" shouted 'Demeaior'. "No! She can't become an angel... we must bring her back to where she belongs... and she will be mine!" Then he stormed offstage, and the guards followed him.

After a moment, 'Christian', or Cameron, came onstage on the side opposite Christine. He then sat on the floor, waiting for 'Satine' to come onstage once the music started.

Christine took a deep breath. Then the music for the song started, and she walked onstage.

Cameron had his back turned to her, so he couldn't see that it was she. She walked over to him and stood over where he was sitting. Then, after a moment, she started singing.

_Never knew_

_I could feel like this -_

_Like I've never seen the sky_

_Before..._

_Want to vanish_

_Inside your kiss..._

_Every day I love you more_

_And more..._

Cameron turned to where she was standing and rose. His eyes widened. _Christine!_ What was she doing here?

But she ignored his fearful looks as she kept singing.

_Listen to my heart -_

_Can you hear? It sings,_

_Tellin' me to give you everything..._

_Seasons may change,_

_Winter to spring..._

_But I love you_

_Until the end of time_

_Come what may..._

_Come what may..._

_I will love you_

_Until my dying day..._

Cameron took a deep breath, then started singing as Francois and Emilie watched, aware that 'Satine' was not Marie.

**Suddenly the world**

**Seems such a perfect place...**

**Suddenly it moves**

**With such a perfect grace...**

_**Suddenly my life doesn't seem**_

_**Such a waste...**_

**It all revolves around you...**

_**And there's no mountain too high,**_

_**No river too wide...**_

_**Sing out this song**_

_**And I'll be there by your side...**_

_**Storm clouds may gather,**_

_**And stars may collide...**_

_But I love you _**(I love you)**

_Until the end_

_Of time _**(Until the end of time)**

_**Come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you**_

_**Until my dying day**_

_**Oh, come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you...**_

**Oh, I will love you...**

**Suddenly the world**

**Seems such a perfect place...**

_**Come what may...**_

_**Come what may...**_

_**I will love you**_

_**Until my dying day...**_

As the music ended, the audience applauded, and Cameron and Christine wrapped their arms around each other. They closed their eyes, and Cameron rested his cheek on the top of her head. Everyone who worked in the Opera - now aware of who was playing 'Satine' - watched nervously.

As Christine kept her eyes closed, Cameron opened his for a brief moment and saw Emilie motioning to him on the side of the stage to get his attention. He looked up at her.

"Do you want me to get the police?" Emilie mouthed to him.

He shook his head and rested his cheek on top of Christine's head again for a moment, suddenly feeling angered and betrayed. Christine had lied to him! She'd promised to stay underground - and she'd lied! He suddenly felt growing hatred towards her. She couldn't be trusted; he didn't love her.

Christine continued to stay in his embrace, wanting him to hold her forever. It was time to see if he would. She sang softly:

_Say you'll share with me_

_One love..._

_One lifetime..._

_Lead me, save me_

_From my solitude..._

_Say you want me with you_

_Here..._

_Beside you..._

She broke away from him and looked up into his eyes hopefully as she finished, taking one of his hands in hers. Cameron placed his free hand on her cheek.

_Anywhere you go,_

_Let me go too!_

_Cameron,_

_That's all I ask of -_

But before she could finish, Cameron pulled her mask off, allowing the operagoers and the Opera employees to see her deformity. Horrified reactions came from every corner.

She looked up at him, betrayed and anguished, feeling as though her world was crumbling around them. He'd betrayed her! He'd shown her face to the world!

He looked at her for another moment, then shook his head and turned away from her, slowly starting to walk away.

She stared at him for a moment, then looked around and saw that the police were heading down towards the stage, coming for her. She looked up at the ceiling, where the chandelier was. Then she looked at Cameron, who was still making his way offstage. She knew what she must do.

Without another moment's hesitation, she grabbed Cameron, who was an arm's length away from her, roughly by the arm.

"No!" he gasped, struggling. "No!"

She pulled a small dagger that she'd hidden in her shoe out and quickly cut a nearby rope, which was attatched to the chain that held up the chandelier. Then she ran over to the trapdoor that was 'Hell', stomped on it, and fell through, down to the passageway that she used to go to her lair. Then she started dragging Cameron along with her.

After another moment, the chandelier started falling, and the horrified operagoers screamed and ran out of the auditorium. When the chandelier fell, it caught fire, and soon the Opera would be all in flames once again, just as it had been fifty - six years before.

Emilie, having observed all of this with horror, quickly ran onstage, looking first to see where Marie was. After a moment, she found her sister, lying dead on the floor, the Punjab lasso around her neck.

She thought quickly. She had to find Christine and Cameron. She didn't know where Christine lived - hardly anybody did. There were only three people that knew where she lived - Christine herself, Cameron, and...

_Francois Jannes_. She looked up in the flies and saw Francois, frantically looking for something. She ran up into the flies.

"Jannes!" she exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm.

Francois looked up at her. "_Mademoiselle_ Chastain," he said hurriedly, nodding. "What is it? I'm very busy."

"Where is she?" she demanded. "Where has Christine taken him? Where does she live? I know you know!"

He rose and stuck a pistol in his belt. "I cannot tell you that, _Mademoiselle_ Chastain," he said. "It would not be safe for you to go."

"But she took Cameron!" she pleaded. "Please - she might kill him! I'm afraid for him, Jannes... she might be in a horrid temper! I've got to stop her!"

"Where do you think _I_ am going?" said Francois, brushing past her. "I'm going to stop her before she makes a big mistake. But I might not make it in time..." He started looking worried as he started walking towards the dressing room with the mirror. "... I'm an old man, and I walk too slowly for something like this."

"Let me go ahead of you," she said quickly, starting to walk with him. "Tell me how I can get to where she lives, and I'll stop her in time. I'm faster than you. I can make it."

Francois stopped walking. "All right, listen very carefully," he said quickly. "Go to the dressing room with the huge mirror - the one that your fiance is always in. Open the mirror, and you will see a passageway. Go down the passageway, and you'll eventually come to where she lives." He pressed his hands against hers. "And may God be with you. Go!"

Without another moment's hesitation, she quickly started walking to the dressing room with the mirror.


	58. Chapter 57: The Confrontation

**A/N #1: I have phan art of Cameron, Emilie, and Red Death Christine. Let me know if you want it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the bits and pieces of the _Phantom_ song _Down Once More/Track Down..._ that I use, which I had to change in order to make sense.**

**A/N #2: Just so you don't get confused, Cameron is bold and Emilie is italics for singing at the end.**

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Christine dragged Cameron down the passageway, going down to her lair. She was angry with him, and she let it show by how roughly she was pulling him along.

"Christine!" cried out Cameron, struggling. "Christine, please - let me go!"

"You're too late, Cameron!" she shouted, pulling him along more roughly. "You've betrayed me for the last time! No more of this, do you hear? No more!" She pushed him into the gondola, got on, grabbed the rowing rod, and rowed away.

Meanwhile, Emilie had just gotten to the dressing room with the mirror. She rushed over to the mirror, grabbed it by the end, and tugged on it with all of her might. It finally opened it to her, and she ran down the passageway.

Down below, Christine rowed the gondola onto the shore of the lake. Grabbing Cameron roughly by the arm, she stepped onto the shore and started to pull him into his room.

"You lied to me, Christine," he gasped, starting to look angry. "You lied... why did you lie? Christine... why? _Why?_" Then, suddenly, with no warning at all, he freed himself from her grip and grabbed her by the throat. He shoved her into the wall and pinned her there as she struggled for breath, choking and gasping.

"I should do to you what you have done to others, Christine," he growled, tightening her grip on her neck. "I should kill you! I hate you, do you hear? I hate you! And I mean it this time!"

She managed to choke out a single word. "_Please -_"

After another moment, he released her, and she fell onto the floor, coughing and gasping for air. Then he turned away from her and started to walk away.

She lay there on the floor for a minute, struggling to breathe, until she finally regained her normal breathing. Angry at him now, she got up on her knees and pulled her Punjab lasso out of her cloak, which was hanging nearby. Then she tossed it onto the floor, where his foot was going to be in a moment.

Not paying any attention, he stepped right inside the noose of the punjab. She yanked on it, causing it to tighten around his ankle, and she tugged on it, causing him to let out a cry of surprise and fall down flat on his face. She stood up and pulled on the rope, dragging him across the floor the where she stood.

Suddenly afraid, he started crying. "I'm sorry, Angel," he sobbed, cowering in front of her. "I'm sorry, Christine... I won't do it again, I promise!"

She untied the rope around his ankle and grabbed him by the arm, causing him to stand and meet her eye to eye. "You'd best be careful about what you do, Cameron!" she shouted. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that I care too much for you to not do you great harm!" She shoved him in the direction of his bedroom. "Now go get dressed! Put on your nicest clothes - we're going to have a wedding!"

Terrified, he ran into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Not too far from Christine's lair, Emilie came to the lake. There wasn't a boat there. Sighing, she jumped into the water and began to wade through it to get to Christine's lair.

Christine went into her bedroom and opened one of the drawers in her dresser. She dug through it until she found and pulled out what she'd been looking for - a simple gold men's wedding band - Cameron's wedding ring that she'd bought for him.

Satisfied, she walked out of her bedroom and stood there in the main part of the lair, waiting for Cameron.

After a few minutes, she heard the sound of Cameron's bedroom door opening and the sound of Cameron's voice singing angrily.

_Have you gorged yourself at last_

_In your lust for blood?_

She turned to him and stared up at him, dressed in the nicest outfit that he could find. He looked angry as he continued singing and walking towards her.

_Am I now to be prey_

_To your lust for flesh?_

When he'd walked over to stand right in front of her, she replied:

_That fate which condemns me_

_To wallow in blood_

_Has also denied me_

_The joys of the flesh..._

She reached a hand out to his face, but he turned away from her. So she contented herself to play with his blonde hair as she continued, starting to sound sad.

_This face, the infection_

_Which poisons our love..._

_This face which earned_

_A mother's fear and loathing_

_A mask - my first_

_Unfeeling scrap of clothing_

She slipped the ring onto his ring finger and turned him around to face her.

_Pity comes too late,_

_Turn around and face your fate..._

_An eternity of this_ -

She held up his hand that he had the ring on and pointed to her face with the other hand, and remorseful tears filled her eyes - she hadn't wanted to do this to him, ever.

_Before your eyes..._

She placed his hand down and joined their hands for a moment.

After a moment, he let go of her hands and started walking towards the row of mirrors that she had. He pulled the cover on one of them down as he sang softly:

_Your haunted face_

_Holds no horror for me now..._

She turned to him, looking hopeful. Was he accepting her for what she was at last?

But then he finished:

_It's in your soul_

_That the true distortion lies..._

She bowed her head for a moment, losing all hope of ever being loved by him. Then she looked up and saw Emilie standing at the gate, soaked. "Oh, look," she sneered. "Your lover's come to save you! How _predictable_!"

He turned his head toward the gate and saw his fiancee. "Emilie!" he gasped, running to the edge of the lake's shore.

"Emilie," said Christine, giving Emilie a mock - courteous curtsy, "this is indeed an unparalleled delight!" She walked over to where Cameron stood as she sang:

_I had rather hoped_

_That you would come..._

_And now, my wish comes true -_

_You have truly made my night!_

She grabbed Cameron by the arm tauntingly as Cameron struggled, protesting, "Let me go!"

Emilie exclaimed:

_Free him!_

_Do what you like,_

_Only free him!_

_Have you no pity?_

Christine turned to Cameron and shrugged, telling him,

_Your lover makes a passionate plea..._

Cameron shook his head.

_It's really useless..._

But Emilie persisted.

_I love him!_

_Does that mean nothing?_

_I love him!_

_Show some compassion!_

Chirstine pointed at herself and replied, "The world shows no compassion to _me_!"

Emilie begged:

_Cameron, Cameron -_

_Let me see him..._

Christine shrugged and pulled the lever to open the gate.

_Be my guest, ma'am..._

The gate opened, and Emilie stepped inside the lair and started walking towards Cameron and Christine. As Christine started walking down towards Emilie to meet her, Emilie sang:

_Mademoiselle, I feel welcome_

_Did you think that I might harm you?_

Cameron, unexpectedly, finished as he followed behind Christine, singing:

_Why would she make you pay_

_When the killing is mine?_

Then he suddenly grabbed her by the neck and started choking her. Christine - and Emilie, too - looked shocked as Christine started choking and gasping for breath.

"Cameron!" gasped Emilie. "What on earth are you doing? You're going to kill her!"

"That's the point!" shouted Cameron. "I'm going to choke her to death, and when she's dead, we'll run away and be rid of her forever! I'm saving you the effort!" He tightened his grip on Christine's neck.

"I wasn't coming down here to kill her, Cameron!" exclaimed Emilie. "I was just coming down to stop _her_ from killing _you_! Then we would run away and be rid of her forever!"

"Well, now she can't ever come after us!" replied Cameron coldly. "We'll never have to worry about her again!"

Emilie looked desperately from Cameron down to Christine, whose face was starting to turn blue. She wasn't going to let Cameron kill Christine. She rushed over to Cameron and grabbed his hands, trying to pry them off of Christine's neck. "Let - go!"

"Not until she's dead!"

"Stop it!" Emilie screamed. "Look - you're choking the life out of her! Don't do this!" She grabbed his hands and kept trying to pry them off of Christine's neck until, finally, she succeeded and his grip was released.

Christine fell into the water. Emilie quickly stuck her arm in and pulled her out of the water. Then Christine gasped and started coughing, trying to get air back into her lungs.

When she could breathe again, Christine looked up at Emilie, who had a hand on her shoulder, trying to make sure that she was all right. After a moment of realizing that Emilie was repaying her from when she'd not killed her during their winter swordfight, and had shown her compassion, she bowed her head and started to cry.

After crying for several minutes, she looked back up at Emilie, who was still looking down at her. Then she pulled away from Emilie and started walking back up to her lair. "Take him," she cried out to Emilie. "Forget me - forget all of this. Leave me alone... forget all you've seen. Go now; don't let them find you!"

Cameron grabbed Emilie's arm and started to pull her away.

"Take the boat; swear to me never to tell the secrets you know of the angel in Hell," cried Christine, and then ran up to the main part of the lair. "Go now! Go now and leave me!" Then she ran into the swan bedroom.

Christine sat on the bed in her swan bedroom, listening to the monkey music box that Erik had made - she'd taken it from her mother's grave after Erik had died one day - play the tinkling melody of _Masquerade_. She looked down at her mask, which she was holding in her hands, resentfully, as she softly sang along with the music box.

_Masquerade..._

_Paper faces on parade..._

_Masquerade..._

_Hide your face_

_So the world will never find you..._

Then she put on her mask. Straightening herself, she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye. She looked over and saw Cameron standing there. Then she managed a small smile and sang softly:

_Cameron, I love you..._

Cameron looked at her for a moment, then walked over to where she was sitting. He took one of her hands in one of his and overturned it so that her palm was facing upward. He placed the gold ring that she'd given him in her hand, then closed her hand and placed it back down. Then he shot her a look of pure hatred and then turned and walked out of the swan bedroom.

She looked after him for a moment, then bowed her head and started to cry. As she cried, she heard Cameron and Emilie singing as they rowed away.

**Say you'll share with me**

**One love, one lifetime...**

_Say the word_

_And I will follow you..._

She walked out of the swan bedroom to the edge of the lake and watched them row away. Emilie turned in her direction and waved and smiled at her a little bit. Then she turned back to Cameron.

**Share each day with me**

**Each night, each morning...**

As she watched them row out of sight, she sang softly:

_You alone can make my song take flight..._

She stood there quietly for a moment until she heard someone calling her name. "Christine!"

She turned and saw Francois running into the lair, a pistol in his hand. "Right here, Francois," she sighed, walking over to meet him.

He saw her. "Oh, there you are, dear," he sighed with relief. "I never thought I'd get down here..." He looked around and saw that the lair was empty. "What have you done with Cameron Luc and Emilie Chastain?"

"I let them go. I couldn't do much more."

"I see." He nodded. "Well, it's all right, dear... except for the minor detail that there's an angry mob coming down here to kill you."

"What a shock," she sighed. "Well, you'd better leave, then. I don't want you getting hurt, _mon ami_."

"But what about you?"

She patted his arm reassuringly. "I'll be all right. God knows when we will see each other again."

He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we shall leave it to Him."

She gazed at him for a moment. "Take care of yourself, Francois," she said softly. "Take very great care... your tiresome nosiness has become very dear to me. Now go."

"Goodbye, Christine," he whispered, then turned and left the way he'd come.

She looked after him for a moment, then ran up to where the mirrors where. Then she shouted, "This isn't the end!"

With that, she picked up a candleabra and began smashing the mirrors. When she broke the last mirror, the weak wall behind it broke, and she could see a passageway - her escape to freedom.

She grabbed her cloak and put it on. Before she stepped through, she looked behind her and took one last look at what she was leaving - the only home she'd ever known.

"I'll return," she vowed silently to herself. "I'm just not sure when..."

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**A/N #3: THE END! But don't despair, good readers... there will be a sequel! The story continues in No More Darkness! Let me know if you want to be informed when it's up, or just be on the lookout for it! (I'll probably wait about a month before starting it... if I can bear to wait that long; ha ha.)**


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